THE 


RIVALS   OF  ESTE, 


AND 


OTHER    POEMS. 


BY 

JAMES    G.    BROOKS, 

*>.,  t- 

AND 

MARY   E.   BROOKS. 


PRINTED  BY  J.  Sf  J.  HARPER,  82  CLIFF-STREET. 


SOLD  BY  COLLINS  AND  HANNAY,  COLLINS  AND  CO.,  O.  AND  C.  AND  H-  CAR- 
VILL. — BOSTON,  RICHARDSON  AND  LORD,  AND  BILLIARD,  GRAV  AND  CO. — 
BALTIMORE,  F.  LUCAS,  W.  AND  I.  NKAL,  AND  CUSHING  AND  JEWETT. 


1829. 


Southern  District  of  New-  York,  as. 

BE  IT  REMEMBERED,  That  on  the  llth  day  of  April,  A.  D.  1829,  in  tin: 
nlty-third  year  of  the  Independence  of  the  United  States  of  America,  J.  & 
J.  HARPER,  of  the  said  District,  have  deposited  in  this  office  the  title  of  ;i 
Book,  the  right  whereof  they  claim  as  Proprietors,  in  the  words  following, 
to  wit : 

(:  The  Rivals  of  Este,  and  other  Poems.  By  James  G.  Brooks,  and  Mary 
i:.  Brooks." 

In  conformity  to  the  Act  of  the  Congress  of  the  United  States,  entitled  "An 
Act  for  the  encouragement  of  learning,  by  securing  the  copies  of  maps,  charts, 
and  books,  to  the  authors  and  proprietors  of  such  copies,  during  the  times 
therein  mentioned."  And  also  to  an  act,  entitled  "An  Act,  supplementary 
to  an  act,  entitled  An  Act  for  the  encouragement  of  learning,  by  securing  the 
copies  of  maps,  charts,  and  books,  to  the  authors  and  proprietors  of  such 
copies,  during  the  times  therein  mentioned,  and  extending  the  benefits  thereof 
to  the  arts  of  designing,  engraving,  and  etching  historical  and  other  prints." 

FRED.  J.  BETTS, 
Clerk  of  the  Southern  District  of  New-York. 


9  S 


/U- 


POEMS. 


MARY   E.    BROOKS. 


fSomc  of  the  minor  pieces  in  the  following  collection  have  been  publish*  I 
under  the  signature  of  NORNA. 


M868549 


TO 


THE    HOtf.    PHILIP    HOSTE, 

LATE  MAYOR  OF  THE  CITY  OP  NEW- YORK, 


Whose  official  career  was  an  honour  to  the  city,  and  whose  private  example 
iias  inculcated  a  taste  for  the  Fine  Arts, 


THIS  VOLUME  IS  DEDICATED,  BY 

n 

THE   AUTHORS. 


COXTEWTS. 


POEMS  BY  MARY  E.  BROOKS. 


The  Rivals  of  Este         .  ^3 

Hebrew  Melodies       .            .            .        ..   ,  45 

Saul               .            .            .    •        .           \  47 

Joshua,  vi.  5  5Q 

2  Kings,  vii.  6                        .             .             .  .51 

Isaiah,  Ixiv.  11    .             .            ,'          .  §% 

Psaltn  cxxxvii.           ,            ,»           :  ^--.       -,  53 

Jeremiah,  iv.  30              .            .'               *,  t              54 

Jeremiah,  x.  17         .            .         '   .  55 

Jeremiah,  xxii.  10           .          .  .-          .  56 

Destiny    .            ..           .            .   '         f            .  ^        59 

The  Bride's  Farewell             .            .,         S^*.  61 

Romance              .  •           „  ^        .            .            .  g3 

Midnight        .            ."          .            .            .  -.  6^ 

Souvenir  .            „            »            »            *,•••"  71 

Romance        .            ».            .            .            .  73 

The  Contrast       ...»  77 

Dream  of  Life        '  ^            .            .            .  7a 

Tasso .82 

The  Farewell 85 

sPrinS .87 

Lela  •                                      94 

LaVerna             .....  96 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

ftMM 

"  They  say  when  Years"       .            .  .        •     ..  '*        112 

"  We '11  circle  the  Harp"             .  .        *':;,            .      114 

"  Oh,  never  believe,  Love"    .            „  |._*            .             1 15 

A  Pledge  to  the  dying  Year       ^fe  .             ,             .116 

11  From  all  the  Sunny  Tints"             .  .            .             117 

Love's  Gifts         .            .            .        F  *  .            .119 

The  "  Red  Bird"        .            .  • :    .            .            120 

Jeanne  d'Arc        .          *  *            »  .            .             .      122 

"Oh,  come,  my  Love"        •  .__'.;        .  .           ...           124 

*'  Oh  no,  it  never  cross'd  my  heart"  .             .             .      125 

"  The  lingering  beam  of  sunset  lay"  <->;•-         %             ^26 

"  Go,  where  rosy  links  are  twining"  .            .             .127 

"  Take  the  Strains"  .  128 


CONTENTS* 


POEMS  BY  JAMES  G.  BROOKS. 


Genius     .**....      133 

Man   .......  148 

The  Greek  Struggle        »  .*  T        .  .  .153 

To  the  Turkish  Crescent       .  .  155 

The  Russian  Retreat       .  .      158 

Time  .  159 

*  A  Man  of  Sorrows"      .  V  .    ^       ,.'  .      165 

»  The  Last  Song"      .  .  .  170 

Italy         ....         .;.v  .      171 

A  Remembrance        .  *  .  .  172 

To  C.  Glen  Van  Rensselaer        .  *'<  '"';*'        .      174 

Stanzai  .  .  .  ,.  ...  176 

To  Cora  .  .  .  '    ;'  .  .      17» 

Genius  and  Joy          .  .  .  .  .  181 

Night        .  .-*       .  ,  ,  .  .  .184 

Stanzas  .  .  .  .  .  .  18G 

The  Avatar  of  Freedom  .  .  .  .189 

Time  .......  191 

To  the  Dying  Year          .  .  .  .  .193 

The  Self-Murderer    ...  .198 

An  Elegy  .  ...      200 

To  -      ......  203 

The  Stream  of  Hope       .....      204 


CONTENTS. 

„  J-AUIC 

Greece                                   ..            ^  v                         206 

Lines        .        *>>.            .            .  %            %            _      210 

The  Broken  Heart     .            t            .  ax:,            .            213 

Stanzas     .             .             <  214 

Ireland            ,             .             .             .  l*  .             *            215 

The  Brave            ....  .      219 

Sketch,  No.  1              ...  220 

Sketch,  No.  2                     .             .        |  .      .      .  .      221 

Sketch,  No.  3             .                     ?.•'"'«,"  223 

Farewell   .             »        «  -^ '  ,                                 225 

Freedom         ...  .                         227 

Stanzas  to .        ^_^-  .             .                    335 

To  Cora         .             .             .             ,-  232 

The  Dying  Soldier           .             ,  .             .             .      234 

The  Requiem              ....  237 

Stanzas  addressed  to  a  Lady        .  .             t                   241 

Stanzas           .             .             .             ,  ^44 

To  Cora  ....  .            .      246 

To  Cora         .          '  1            »        '    ,  '    .                         249 

The  Spell         *;.            .            /  ^'        .^        ,      250 

To  the  Autumn  Leaf             ,             .  '     .    - •      '  .             252 

Stanzas     .                       -  .    :        «  -     ^  ,             .             .      255 

Lines  for  an  Album  .            .  '     r  '*      '  4            257 

The  Grave            . '           .  rf        ,  25Q 

Joy  and  Sorrow         ,  '          .  '    «                         260 


THE    RIVALS   OF    ESTE. 

CAJTTO    I. 


oC 

CANTO  I. 


Tis  night  where  the  deep  wave  of  ocean  is  rushing 

'Tis  night  where  the  breezes  of  evening  swell, 
Tis  night  where  the  flowrets  are  silently  blushing 

Unseen  by  the  bright  eyes  that  love  them  so  well 
Ah !  now  is  the  shadowy  hour  of  feeling, 

When  joy  wakes  to  revel,  and  sorrow  to  weep ; 
And  hark!    where  their  wild  mingled  murmurs 

stealing, 
An  echo  replies  to  the  wail  of  the  deep  ! 


ii. 


If  to  yon  silver  orb  was  given 

A  tongue  to  tell  the  deeds  of  Even, 

She'd  whisper  not  of  hearts  that  climb 

Nearer  the  heaven  from  which  they  came  ; 
Or  on  the  restless  wing  of  Time          , 

Plunge  in  the  gulf  of  sin  and  shame, 
Till  earth  has  not  a  reptile  thing, 
More  coldly,  darkly  withering — 
2 


14  THE     RIVALS 

She'd  tell  no  tale  of  brighter  glee, 
Or  darker,  deeper  agony, 
Than  might  be  found  beneath  thy  sky, 
Thy  own  broad  blue,  fair  Italy. 

in. 

Thou,  the  young  paradise  of  earth, 

Glowing  in  nature's  witchery, 
There's  not  a  thing  of  mortal  birth 

But  saves  its  sweetest  smile  for  thee  ; 
The  loveliest  flower>  the  warmest  green, 
Is  pillowed  on  thy  fairest  scene  ; 
Softly  around  the  almond  tree 

The  purple  vine  is  clinging, 
While  every  breeze  that  wakes  for  thee 

Ten  thousand  sweets  is  bringing  : 
And  oh,  what  splendor  in  the  beam 
That  lightens  the  enchanted  dream  ! 
Whether  it  sleeps  upon  the  hill, 
Or  gilds  the  softly  murmuring  rill, 
Or  kisses  the  young  summer  flower, 

Or  sweeter  far,  young  Beauty's  cheek. 
As  stealing  in  her  rosy  bower, 

It  dares  the  sacred  shadow  break  ; 
Or  lingering  on  the  mountain  height, 

As  loth  to  quit  so  fair  a  place, 
Still  in  its  gay  and  golden  light 

One  peerless  purity  ye  trace 


OF     ESTE.  15 


Ah,  sure  if  love  essayed  to  find 
One  little  spot  of  earthly  rest, 

Bright  as  the  heaven  he  left  behind, 
'Twould  be,  fair  Italy,  thy  breast. 


IV. 


Alas !  that  where  heaven's  sunbeams  fall. 
Man  is  the  cloud  that  shadows  all ! 
For  see,  in  yonder  lonely  bower, 
A  ruder  tread  has  crushed  the  flower ; 
And  that  bright  spot  can  breathe  a  tale 
Of  horror  to  the  passing  gale  : 
There  hatred  holds  his  fierce  career, 
Unchill'd  by  time,  unchecked  by  fear ; 
And  seek  ye  where  his  victims  sleep, 

Go  mark  the  unhallowed  grave — 
Or  ask  the  dull  cold  murmuring  deep, 

What  broke  its  midnight  wave  i 
Revenge !  revenge  !  the  page  of  Time, 
Has  traced  his  way  through  blood  and  crime, 
Till  sated  in  his  fiend-like  course, 

And  sickening  at  the  ruin  done, 
In  blackening,  withering  remorse, 

He  kneels  before  the  altar  stone  ; 
And  torture  well  might  shrink  to  share 
That  deeper  madness  of  despair. 


10  THE     RIVALS 

V. 

'Tis  midnight  now  o'er  vile  and  good. 
O'er  the  gay  crowd  and  solitude  ; 
And  softly  fall  yon  silver  beams, 
Where  Padus  with  his  thousand  streams 
is  rushing  onward  rapidly, 
In  haste  to  meet  the  dark  blue  sea  ; 
While  the  slight  flower  that  bends  to  law 
Its  blossom  in  the  sparkling  wave, 
Js  swept  beneath  the  rushing  tide  : 
Emblem  of  loveliness  and  pride  1 


VI. 


But  lights  flash  bright — Ferrara's  tower 

Gleams  gaily  in  the  dusky  hour ! 

Mo  !  lights  are  flashing,  eyes  are  bright. 

And  joy's  wild  carol  wakes  to  night ! 
Where  the  sybil  numbers  float, 
Late  was  heard  a  deeper  note — 
When  the  tramp,  and  crash,  and  clau<r. 
Dark  along  the  valley  rang  ; 
Where  was  rallied  freedom's  band, 
Now  the  dark-eyed  strangers  stand  ; 
O'er  the  avalanche's  bed, 
Came  they  with  a  colder  tread  : 

Clouds  of  battle  rolled  away, 

Yonder  arch  is  bright  as  ever, 

Wild  birds  wake  their  roundelay, 

But  thy  children  bleed  for  ever : 


OF     ESTE. 

And  the  chains  are  strongly  bound, 
Brave  and  beautiful  around. 
Many  a  tale  of  guilt  and  sorrow, 
Fanpy  there  did  darkly  borrow  ; 
Bade  the  peasant's  footsteps  falter, 
As  he  neared  the  lonely  altar  ; 
Whispered  he  of  shrouded  forms, 
Borne  upon  the  mountain  storms  ? 
Dying  shrieks  of  agony, 
In  the  night  wind  sweeping  by — 
The  moss  grown  turrets  rose  alone, 
They  that  reared  the  pile  were  gone. 
Had  they  crossed  a  rival's  hour, 
Had  they  dared  a  tyrant's  power, 
Had  they  loved  their  land  too  well  ? 
Where  were  they  ?  let  treason  tell, 
How,  or  why,  or  where  they  fell. 

VII. 

But  lights  flash  bright— and  wild  delight 
Fantastic  treads  the  scene  this  night ; 
And  half  unbending  sable  brow, 
Dark  Este  bids  the  revel  flow. 
Not  often  had  the  princely  call 

Of  Este  bid  the  stranger  cheer  : 
Bound  in  a  deep  and  mighty  thrall, 

How  wildly  shapes  the  guilty  fear ! 
The  midnight  dream,  the  injured  shade, 
The  turning  steel  of  trust  betrayed — 
2* 


THE     RIVALS 

The  deadly  aim  in  friendship's  dress, 
The  death  blow  in  the  kind  caress. 
But  now,  at  once  the  portals  wide, 
Fling  free  the  haunts  of  love  and  pride  ; 
And  earth,  and  wave,  and  ocean  isle 
Gather  their  sweets  for  beauty's  smile. 

VIII. 

A  thousand  torches  lent  their  light 
To  gild  the  Sala's  vaulted  height ; 
Reflected  back  from  gold  and  gem, 
Price  of  a  monarch's  diadem  ; 
From  the  high  archway  gorgeously 
Waved  there  the  crimson  canopy ; 
While  here,  like  Alpine's  spotless  snows, 
The  alabaster  pillar  rose  : 
From  silver  urns  the  aloe  wood 
Of  Persia  poured  its  incense  flood, 
And  scented  flames  rose  high  and  bright 
From  many  a  censer's  golden  light  j 
As  the  gem  in  sunlight  sparkling 
Long  beneath  the  waters  darkling  ; 
As  the  stream  in  silence  gliding 
Sudden  to  the  rock  dividing  ; 
Backward  from  its  breast  recoiling, 
In  a  thousand  dimples  boiling  : 
Mirth  long  bound,  his  fetters  breaking, 
Started  to  a  bright  awaking  ; 
Gaily  rung  the  castinet, 
Where  the  merry  dancers  met ; 


OP     ESTE.  10 


Now  in  frolic  mood  advancing, 
Through  the  mazy  circles  glancing  ; 
And  ever  still  the  shades  between, 
Some  thing  of  loveliness  was  seen 
Gliding  along  those  shining  aisles, 
All  life,  and  radiance,  and  smilesj 
Oh,  there  was  magic  all  around, 
And  every  wandering  sense  was  bound 
In  present,  powerful  to  bless, 
Past,  and  to  come,  forgetfulness. 


IX. 


The  soft  Mimosa*  swept  the  stream 

That  rushed  along  to  meet  it,  gladly  ;. 
Say,  was  it  fancy's  idle  dream, 

Or  did  it  bend  more  lowly,  sadly, 
Than  to  its  own  bright  eastern  wave  ; 
Oh  lovely  there  its  boughs  to  lave, 
And  through  the  long  sweet  summer  fan 
Its  own  broad  sea,  its  Caspian  ! 
In  their  unrivalled  luxury, 
The  deep  perfumes  of  Araby 
Flung  to  the  breeze's  light  caress 
All  their  young  soft  deliciousness  : 
Then  music  too ;  wild  melodies 
Were  wafted  on  each  gentle  breeze; 
To  the  deep  groves  that  far  away 
From  that  resplendent  brightness  lay, 


*  Mimosa,  or  Silk-tree:  it  droops  like  the  willow ;  U  very  sweet;  is  found  in 
Teheraun,  and  wild  on  the  bordera  of  the  Caspian.— See  Keppel's  Travels  m 
India. 


20  THE     RIVALS 

Spreading  their  mimic  solitude  ; 
Oh,  who  but  love  would  dare  intrude  ! 
And  where's  the  crowd,  or  tell  me  where 
The  solitude  he  will  not  dare  ! 


That  moonlit  grove,  that  moonlit  grove  ! 
Reared  for  the  very  haunt  of  love  ; 
Far  from  the  lights  that  idly  shone, 
Where  fell  the  moonbeam's  light  alone  : 
And  not  a  whisper  broke  the  air, 

Save  as  the  gurgling  waters  crept 
Across  the  lonely  beauty  there  ; 

How  truly  there  the  bosom  kept 
Its  vigil  o'er  the  kind  caress, 
Or  the  cold  grave  of  happiness  I 
That  moonlit  grove  !  dim,  shadowy, 
Why  swells  upon  its  breeze  the  sigh  ? 
Why,  as  the  rose-bud  rears  its  head, 
For  ever  there  the  mildew  shed  ? 


XI. 

That  moonlit  grove  !  there  sleeps,  they  say, 
The  heart  where  love,  youth,  beauty  met 

That  nurtured  in  his  burning  ray, 

Could  bleed  and  die,  but  not  forget. 

Few  summers  could  that  maiden  tell. 

For  young  hearts  only  love  so  well ; 


OP     ESTE. 

And  love  like  that,  ah,  hearts  can  know 
A  love  like  that  but  once  below  ; 
Pure  as  the  dream  to  childhood  given, 
Bright  as  a  hope  of  yon  blue  heaven ; 
Sparkling  as  ocean  wave  ;  yet  deep 
As  things  beneath  its  surface  sleep. 
She  came  in  beauty,  Este's  bride, 
The  idol  in  his  halls  of  pride  : 
But  paler  grew,  and  bowed  her  head, 
And  sleeps  upon  her  grassy  bed  ; 
And  Este's  eye  did  never  bend 

Upon  that  lone  and  hallowed  spot. 
Nor  thither  did  his  footsteps  tend — 

And  if  remembered,  heeded  not ; 
Or  marked  by  chance,  her  early  tomb, 
But  crossed  his  brow  with  fiercer  gloom  : 
They  told  of  honor,  faith  betrayed, 
Wrong  done  to  rival,  and  to  maid — 
Some  dark,  unutterod  memory 
Was  twined  about  her  destiny ; 
The  story  strange ;  it  was  a  space, 
The  fairest  in  the  fairy  place ; 
Of  brighter  sun,  and  deeper  shade, 
Like  hearts  that  trust,  and  are  betrayed  : 
Young  willows  there  their  branches  wave, 
And  peasants  call  it,  "  Giulia's  grave." 


THE     RIVALS 

XII. 

Wrapped  in  a  garb  that  well  concealed 
What  not  the  wearer's  will  revealed — 
N&r  seeking,  lonely  and  afar, 
To  share,  to  heighten,  or  to  mar — 
Threading  the  wild  enchantments  there. 
And  gazing  on  each  passing  fair ; 
As  all  in  vain  had  tried  their  art, 
To  fling  one  fetter  round  his  heart  — 
With  gloomy  brow,  and  breast  of  steel 
Who  stands  amid  the  revel  peal, 
The  golden  lights,  the  soft  perfume, 
Like  some  dark  prophet  of  the  tomb  ? 
Few  were  the  furrows  on  his  brow, 
Still  darkly  bright  the  eye  below  ; 
But  sullen  sigh,  and  step  apart, 
Bespoke  the  autumn  of  the  heart ; 
The  hidden  wo ;  or,  brooding  long 
And  darkly  o'er  remembered  wrong  : 
The  heart  that  sorrows  in  its  gloom, 
While  pleasure  slumbers  in  the  tomb ! 
If  transient  smile  his  lip  hath  worn, 
Was  it  in  passing  joy  or  scorn  ? 
A  moment  more,  and  stands  confessed 
The  gnawing  canker  of  the  breast. 
He  passed  where  shouts  of  pleasure  rung. 
The  laugh  was  hushed,  the  lyre  unstrung  ; 
They  shrunk  as  if  a  phantom's  eye 
Had  glanced  upon  their  revelry, 


OF     ESTE.  2$ 


Yet  turned  again  all  fearfully, 

As  powerless  to  turn  or  flee. 

He  left  the  torch's  flashing  glare, 

As  claiming  no  communion  there  ; 

And  trembling  heart,  and  throbbing  brain, 

Sprung  to  the  jocund  feast  again. 

XIII. 

Yet  who  was  he  ?  no  honours  shone 

Where  sullen  hate  had  marked  her  own  : 

Yet  well  they  reck  that  measured  port 

Was  nurtured  in  a  princely  court : 

Some  whispered  of  a  pilgrim  knight 

That  held  each  frolic  revel  light ; 

While  others,  older  in  the  art, 

That  earth  so  well  can  teach  the  heart, 

That  lesson,  bitter  in  its  truth, 

To  rend  the  magic  veil  of  youth — 

And  read  within  the  roses  glow 

How  sharp  the  thorns  that  sleep  below — 

Such,  in  his  form  essayed  to  trace, 

The  remnant  of  a  noble  race  ; 

Their  fortunes  all  unknown  ;  'twere  best. 

Perchance,  for  some,  that  thus  they  rest. 

It  was  a  tale  of  night  and  blood  ; 

But  who  had  fought,  or  fall'n,  or  stood  ? 

Deserted  why  their  battlement  ? 

Or  why  their  waving  banner  rent  ? 

Some  might  the  mystery  reveal, 

But  daggers  too  a  lip  can  seal ; 


2  THERIVALS 

Why  babbling  from  a  tattler  bear, 
When  steel  can  put  a  signet  there  ? 
More  wisej  perchance,  the  tale  unsaid, 
Too  many  now  had  sunk  or  fled. 
All  idly  did  the  sun-rays  fall 
Upon  their  silent,  roofless  hall — 
The  grass  grown  hearth  forgot  its  glow  \ 
Where  was  the  banquet's  genial  flow  ? 
Ruin  had  well  achieved  her  mark, 
The  lordly  pile  rose  frowning,  dark — 
And  nought  across  the  murky  air 
Awoke  one  sleeping  echo  there, 
Save  as-  the  night-bird  Capped  her  wing 
Above  the  cold  and  mouldering— 
Or  the  wild  tempest  in  its  power 
Swept  darkly  round  the  vine-clad  tower ; 
Then,  when  the  thunder  crash  of  heaven 
Adown  the  mountain  brow  was  driven, 
The  turrets  trembled  to  the  shock, 
And  through  their  aisles  the  murmurs  broke. 
In  hollow  and  unearthly  tone, 
Like  some  departed  spirit's  moaft. 

XIV. 

But  who  was  he  that  darkly  came, 

Nor  courtesy  to  yield,  or  claim  ? 

And  wherefore  there  ?  in  vain  the  heart 

Of  Este  bade  that  thought  depart. 

Why  blanched  thy  cheek  and  sunk  thine  eye, 

As  the  proud  stranger  passed  thee  by  ? 


OP     ESTE.  25 

Thou  hast  not  quailed  in  battle  da"y, 
Nor  shrunk  to  meet  the  foe's  array — 
What  fear'st  thou  now  in  peaceful  hall. 
Where  myriad  slaves  obey  thy  call  ? 
Why,  pouring  there  the  sparkling  wine. 
Libation  deep  at  pleasure's  shrine, 
The  sudden  start,  and  glancing  eye, 
As  fear  of  lurking  treachery  ? 
Why  not  the  lordly  stranger  pressed, 
To  banquet  with  the  chosen  guest  ? 
Sadly  and  dark  he  passed  along, 
Nor  heeding  mirth,  or  wine,  or  song  ; 
Yet  ere  the  portal  gate  was  crossed, 
A  moment  lingered  by  his  host ; 
"  We  once  have  met,  we'll  meet  again. 
Beyond  the  reach  of  festal  train — 
Our  music  there,  a  deeper  strain.1' 

xv. 

Ugo  !  not  thine  the  dull  insensate  clay, 
That  warms  not,  kindles  not  in  passion's  ray- 
Not  thine  the  creeping  clod  in  mortal  form, 
Alike  below  the  rainbow  and  the  storm — 
As  things  embosomed  in  the  solid  rock, 
Safe  from  the  whirlwind  and  the  tempest's  shock, 
Live  on  unchilled,  unharassed  by  the  storm, 
Whose  desolation  sweeps  each  lovelier  form — 
But  ah,  uncheered,  unbrightened  in  their  gloom, 
While  flower  and  sunbeam  play  above  their  tomb ! 
3 


26  THE     RIVALS 

la  vain  for  them  the  summer  breezes  wake. 
Across  the  deep  blue  mirrors  of  the  lake  ; 
The  mid-day  splendors  of  the  vaulted  heaven. 
And  all  the  softer  loveliness  of  even  : 
In  vain  for  them  each  bright  and  lovely  thing, 
It  cannot  pierce  their  rocky  covering. 
For  him  did  passion  fasten,  not  to  roam, 
And  love  and  hate  alike  might  find  a  home  ; 
And  burning,  bounding,  did  their  currents  flo\v 
From  the  deep  fountain  of  the  heart  below. 
Few  were  the  idols  of  his  breast, 
And  shrined  for  ever  there  to  rest ; 
Few,  rather  say  to  one,  was  given, 
Worship  that  might  have  challenged  heaven 
Many  a  year  had  darkly  flown, 
Since  sorrow  made  that  heart  its  own  ; 
And  in  its  bitterness  congealed, 

The  first  wild  storm  had  passed  away, 
But  traces,  deeply  wrought,  revealed 

How  desolating  was  its  sway  : 
'Twas  not  the  landscape  tempest  swept 
Where  beauty  in  each  ruin  slept, 
Till  sunbeam,  anil  the  summer  rain, 
Should  bid  it  all  re-bloom  again  ; 
But  one  wide  desolated  waste, 

Whereon  no  living,  lonely  thing, 
JEven  though  withered,  might  be  traced. 

In  promise  of  a  second  spring  : 
Fit  dwelling  for  the  scorpion 
Revenge,  to  breathe  and  riot  on  ; 
Fit,  while  the  deep  and  deadly  sting 
Of  baffled  love  was  festering. 


OF    ESTE. 
XVI. 

Oh  baillecl  love  !  thine,  thine  the  power, 
To  sorrow  o'er  the  brightest  hour  : 
In  vain,  in  vain  we  join  the  throng, 
Where  mirth  and  music  swell  along  ; 
Some  lingering  note  recalls  the  strain 
That  will  not  wake  for  us  again. 
Deep  in  the  bosom  slumbering, 

Through  many  an  hour  of  earthly  strife.. 
Some  reckless  touch  awakes  the  string, 

And  all  the  phantom  starts  to  life  ; 
And  still  when  scarce  a  midnight  breath, 
Disturbs  the  mimic  rain  of  death, 
How  purely  true  the  tear  we  pay, 
To  all  for  ever  passed  away ! 
How  bleeds  the  bosom  in  its  truth, 
O'er  the  young  idol  of  its  youth '. 

XVII. 

And  he  is  gone  !  and  Este  flung 

Back  from  his  heart  the  shade  he  threw. 
And  merrily  in  distance  rung 

The  echo  of  the  wild  halloo. 
And  he  has  sought  the  moonlit  grove, 
Sacred  to  Giulia,  and  to  love  ; 
With  bosom  seared  and  desolate, 
To  scan  the  dark  awards  of  hate  ; 
His  ruined  heritage,  his  hand 
Long  fettered  in  a  foreign  land ; 


28  THE     RIVALS     OFESTE. 

His  kindred's  grave,  ambition  crossed, 

And  Giulia  too,  the  loved,  the  lost ! 

He  bowed  his  head  ; — 

"  'Tis  nothing  now 

His  hands  were  clenched  upon  his  brow. 

He  shook  in  deep  convulsive  throe, 
As  the  full  cup  of  agony 

Dashed  o'er  the  heart  below. 

All  that  warms  affection's  stream. 

All  that  gilds  ambition's  dream, 

All  of  pure  and  passionate 

Love  can  image  or  create, 

Turned  to  bitterness  and  flame, 

Madd'ning  o'er  the  moment  came  : 
"Mine  is  yet  a  victim's  bliss. 
Vengeance  claims  a  sacrifice  ; 
Bursting  heart,  and  burning  brain, 
Ask  it,  nor  they  ask  in  vain ; 
Heart-sworn  hatred  points  the  foe, 
Beep  the  wrong,  and  sure  the  blow.1 


THE   RIVALS   OF   ESTE, 

€ANTO  U. 


of 

CANTO  II. 


Now  morning  hung  all  tremblingly 

On  the  deep  purple  of  the  sky  ; 

And  now,  in  thousand  splendors  given. 

Burst  from  Ferrara's  cloudless  heaven. 
Oh,  there  is  music  in  the  first  bright  ray, 
That  sweeps  the  night-cloud  from  its  golden  way 
Music,  wild  music  in  that  burst  of  light, 
As  all  the  landscape  rushes  on  the  sight ; 
And  music  in  the  silvery  strains  that  rise 
From  the  young  spirit  to  its  native  skies  ! 
It  is  the  hour  of  nature's  revelry, 
The  pictured  promise  of  futurity ; 
What  though  but  yesternoon  a  promise  gave, 
To  pass,  as  sought  the  sun  the  western  wave  ; 
Again,  again  we  trust  its  power  to  bless, 
And  trust,  to  meet  again,  deceitfulness. 
Long  visioned  hours  of  life,  and  light,  and  song. 
In  all  their  summer  beauty  float  along  ; 
And  dreams  of  happiness,  'tis  but  a  dream, 
The  dim  reflection  of  a  brighter  beam ; 


32  T  H  E     It  I  V  A  L  S 

Her  spirit  form  throned  in  a  purer  sphere, 
Perchance  may  linger,  but  she  comes  not  here. 
To  rush  in  frenzied  feeling  on, 
To  pant,  to  grasp  some  idol  one  ; 
To  clasp,  ah  what !  a  phantom  shade, 
Of  love,  and  hope,  and  heart  betrayed ! 
This  is  thy  boon,  existence  ;  this 
The  charmed  record  of  thy  bliss. 


Hark  there  !  upon  the  breeze  of  morn. 

Unwonted  sounds  from  distance  borne ; 

The  trumpets  twang  a  stranger  note, 

Along  that  peaceful  .vale  to  float ; 

For  though  the  heart  unchained  and  free- 
Sure  fettered  hand  was  fealty. 

It  sunk,  and  all  around  was  still, 

And  the  winds  murmured  from  the  hill. 

Once  more  it  hushed  the  lullaby, 

That  whispered  in  the  zephyr's  sigh  ; 

Burst  on  the  warrior,  wild,  profound. 

His  charger  started  at  the  sound ; 

And  feebler  spirits  shrunk  to  hear 

That  note  of  discord,  and  of  fear  ! 
They  came,  as  the  thunders  have  pealed  through  the  sky, 
When  the  broad  blue  arch  was  serenity  ; 
The  tramp  of  the  horse,  the  clang  of  the  horn, 
Loud,  and  more  loud,  on  the  summer  breeze  borne  I 
A  coal  black  steed  has  left  the  line, 
His  trappings  of  gold  in  the  sun-light  shine  j, 


OF     ESTE.  33 

He  dashed  along  the  ranks  of  war, 

As  his  rider  had  marshalled  such  hosts  before, 

There  was  an  emblem  on  his  breast, 

Its  meaning  by  few  of  his  followers  guessed  : 

Yet  one  that  saw  it  from  afar, 

Started,  as  well  he  divined  that  star  ; 

He  thought  not  to  have  met  the  sight, 

In  the  halls  of  song,  or  the  fields  of  fight ; 

He  deemed  its  lustre  quenched  in  blood. 

Now.  bright  before  him  again  it  stood  ; 

And  foremost  when  the  volleying  shot 

Poured  from  the  turrets,  fast  and  hot ; 

The  faint  to  urge,  the  brave  to  screen. 

There  was  that  jetty  courser  seen  ' 

in. 

As  the  torrent,  clear  and  bright, 
Bursting  from  its  Alpine  height, 
Onward,  onward,  gathering  force, 
Fury,  madness,  in  its  course  ; 
Broader  as  its  bosom  sweeps, 
From  rock  to  rock  in  thunder  leaps  ; 
Dashing  aside  the  snowy  wreath, 
And  plunging  in  the  gulf  beneath  ! 
On  they  came  with  shout  and  shriek. 
To  the  mountain's  hoary  peak 
Did  the  fearful  clamor  break. 


34  THE     RIVALS 


IV. 


In  vain,  in  vain  did  Este  bar 

His  portals  'gainst  the  unequal  war  : 

In  vain,  in  vain  the  lingering  few, 

To  duty  and  their  chieftain  true, 

Crowd  in  that  dread  decisive  hour, 

To  man  the  tottering  heights  of  power  ; 

The  mighty  tumult  shook  the  walls, 

They  tremble,  crash,  the  bastion  falls  ! 

On  through  the  breach  the  victors  pour. 

And  dark  recoiled  the  tide  of  war  : 

From  battlement  to  battlement 

The  yell  of  victory  was  sent ; 

Loud  and  terrible  the  din, 

To  the  few  that  fought  within  ; 

As  they  caught  the  coming  knell 

Of  their  death  doom  in  the  yell — 

Crushed  for  a  moment,  not  subdued — 

With  gathering  strength,  and  thought  renewed.. 

Brightly  they  rallied  to  the  host — 

In  vain  the  struggle — all  is  lost ! — 

Still  onward  rush  the  battling  foes, 

Fresh  ranks  in  deadly  conflict  close — 

Their  path  was  o'er  the  gasping  dead,    . 

The  red  wound  quivered  to  their  tread  ; 

Slayer  and  slain  together  lay, 

;Neath  sculptured  arch,  and  curtain  gay  ;. 

And  many  a  ghastly  corse  was  piled, 

Where  beauty  had  so  lately  smiled  ! 


OP    ESTE. 


v. 


Blood  was  on  the  marble  floor, 
Gems  and  gold  were  sprinkled  o'er  ; 
It  bathed  the  locks  all  jetty  and  bright, 
Of  many  a  chief  in  his  youthful  might ; 
And  threw  a  purple  stain  upon 
The  hoary  locks  of  the  aged  one. 
Mingled  din  of  battle  came, 
Clang  of  sword,  and  flash  of  flame  ; 
Groan  of  him  that  grieves  to  die, 
Ere  he  has  crushed  his  enemy ; 
The  hollow  light  of  the  half-closed  eye, 
The  trunk  that  quivers  convulsively. 


vr. 


•;  Fire  to  the  pile!"  was  the  order  given, 

And  the  towering  flames  shot  athwart  the  heaven— 

High  and  wide  the  heavy  smoke 

In  wreathing  columns  darkly  broke, 

And  one  sulphureous  canopy 

Curled  like  a  night-cloud  to  the  sky. 

*'  Fire  to  the  pile !"  was  the  order  he  gave, 

And  the  wounded  have  found  them  a  speedier  grave. 


VII. 


First  in  the  fight  with  brow  unbending. 
And  steel  full  oft  and  sure  descending, 
Did  Este  stand — whatever  he  felt — 
Not  this  the  hour  to  turn  or  melt — 


36  THE     RIVALS 

He  had  pressed  to  the  dizzy  brink 

Of  crime  and  power — and  should  he  shrink  ? 

No — though  it  trembles  to  his  weight, 

He  dared,  and  he  will  meet  his  fate — 

By  that  to  that,  he  rose,  and  whether 

To  stand  or  sink,  they  link  together. 

Thus,  as  the  hunter  winds  his  strain, 

The  forest  coward  scours  the  plain  ; 

But  turned  at  bay,  his  front  he  rears, 

And  rushes  on  the  foe  he  fears. 

vin. 

Yet  see  !  what  sabre  sweeps  before  him. 
What  eye  of  fire  is  flashing  o'er  him  ? 
Borne  on  the  fury  of  the  fight, 
With  hostile  front  they  near  unite- 
It  was  the  grapple  fierce  and  strong, 
Of  deep  and  un forgiven  wrong  ; 
The  clasp  of  injury  and  hate, 
Above  the  ruins  they  create  : 
With  arm  to  arm,  and  breast  to  breast 
Unyielding,  motionless  they  rest — 
But  frowning  brow,  and  swelling  vein, 
The  close,  more  close,  convulsive  strain  ; 
The  lip  compressed,  the  gathering  glow 
Told  struggle  desperate  below — 
Nor  shout,  nor  shriek,  nor  taunting  word, 
Nor  curse,  nor  agony  was  heard  ; 


OF    ESTE.  .V;' 

Till  wavering,  reeling  to  and  fro, 
Together  bound,  down,  down  they  go* 
Headlong  upon  the  ground  below. 
More  furious  grew  the  combat  then, 
As  either  strove  to  rise  again  ; 
The  sabre  steel  flashed  quick  between. 
Skilful  to  fathom  or  to  screen  ; 
Till  false  for  once — and  from  the  side 
Of  Este  gushed  the  crimson  tide. 
"  Now  yield"— 

"  No,  never !"— Este  said- 
And  as  the  sullen  words  he  sped, 
His  nerveless  hand  essayed  to  grasp 
The  steel  that  trembled  in  his  clasp  ; 
In  vain — the  cold  drops  on  his  brow — 
In  this  dark  hour  it  failed  him  now  ; 
Prostrate  on  earth,  he  looked  to  heaven* 
There  did  he  hope  to  be  forgiven  ! 
Or  how  desponds  the  parting  soul* 
As  memory  spreads  her  blackened  roll .' 
No  cry  for  mercy  crossed  the  air — 
That  gurgling  gasp  might  seem  despair, 
Or  checkless  burst  of  mortal  pain  ; 
Or  if  attempt  of  words,  in  vain — 
The  cry  to  do,  or  save,  or  say, 
In  the  death  rattle  died  away. 

IX. 

Vear  after  year,  in  brightness  and  decline^ 
Has  swept  the  remnant  of  that  battle  line  ; 
No  more  the  clang  of  steel,  the  clarion  strain-. 
And  dull  cold  silence  on  the  blood-ctyfcd  plain. 
4 


S8  THE     RIVALS 


X. 


Years  !  how  they  pass,  all  silent  and  unseen, 
Yet  leave  a  trace  to  tell  that  they  have  been ! 
Where  is  the  viewless  hand  that  steals  away 
The  hopes,  the  smiles,  the  raptures  of  to-day  ; 
Snatching  the  sunny  idols  from  the  shrine, 
Where  half  we  hailed  them  deathless  as  divine  ? 
Is  it  when  vernal  breezes  sweep  along, 
And  all  the  woodland  wakens  into  song  ? 
Is  it  when  summer  breathes  upon  the  plain, 
And  every  flowret  starts  to  life  again  ? 
Man !  do  they  beckon  beauty  from  its  grave, 
And  snap  the  crystal  fetter  from  the  wave  ; 
And  loud  proclaiming  nature's  revelry, 
Bring  but  cold  sullen  apathy  for  thee  ? 
Yes — yes — Time  wafts  thee  with  untiring  wing 
To  find  no  brighter  bloom,  no  second  spring  ; 
But  onward,  onward,  to  that  last  cold  spot, 
Its  dreams  unknown^  the  dreamer  soon  forgot ! 


XI. 


Where  one  vast  ruin,  blackened  and  defaced, 

Rises  upon  the  wide  unpeopled  waste  ; 

Where  lingering  sunbeams  find  no  answering  smile. 

And  scarce  the  tempest  can  deform  the  pile  ; 

All  shattered,  shapeless,  fearful  in  its  gloom, 

A  beacon,  and  a  record,  and  a  tomb  ; 

The  peasants  point — 


OF     ESTE.  39 

"  There  rose  the  gilded  dome 
For  crime  and  lordliness,  the  palace  home ; 
There  where  the  wild  bird  flits  the  heights  along, 
How  burst  the  shout  of  revelry  and  song ; 
How  every  portal  blazed  a  burst  of  light, 
How  smiled  young  beauty  on  the  circle  bright ; 
How  swelled  in  peal  on  peal  the  festal  strain, 
Till  answering  echo  flung  it  back  again!" 
And  the  worn  peasant,  resting  on  the  soil, 
Rich  in  his  tears,  and  wretchedness,  and  toil, 
Started  as  like  old  ocean's  sink  and  swell, 
The  distant  clamor  o'er  his  slumbers  fell, 


xir. 


ic  mildews  creep  upon  the  sculptured  porch, 
And  there  the  meteor  lights  its  fitful  torch ; 
No  host — no  guest — no  warder — and  no  call — 
0ne  desolating  blast  has  silenced  all. 

They  say  when  midnight  veils  the  skies, 

And  mortal  lids  are  closed  in  sleep, 
That  strange  unreal  shapes  arise, 

And  there  unearthly  vigils  keep  ; 
Unfixed  in  their  eternal  doom, 
They  rise  from  'neath  the  massy  tomb  ; 
That  years  and  years  have  coldly  pressed 
|     Upon  their  low,  unhallowed  rest. 
The  traveller  lated  in  his  path 
Will  rather  brave  the  tempest's  wrath, 
On  forest  wilds,  and  mountain  bare, 
Than  turn  to  seek  for  shelter  there  : 


THE     RIVALS. 

And  he  that  ventures  to  delay 
Till  that  dread  hour  his  homeward 
Oh,  language  fails  him  to  declare 
The  sights  that  froze  his  being  there ! 
The  glaring  and  unearthly  light, 
More  than  the  mid-day  splendor  bright ; 
The  legions  of  returning  dead, 
To  his  affrighted  vision  spread  : 
And  yet  so  silent — not  a  word, 
A  whisper,  or  an  echo  heard  ; 
The  mighty  masses  meet  and  part, 
The  cymbals  ply  their  ceaseless  art ; 
All  breathless,  voiceless  as  the  grave, 
Which  there  hath  rolled  its  leaden  wave. 

XIII. 

The  moon  is  bright  in  heaven— no  sound 

To  break  that  solitude  profound ; 

And  night  has  flung  her  mantle  still 

On  tree  and  grove  and  distant  hill. 

No  breeze  disturbs  the  sleeping  flower, 

No  zephyr  fans  the  orange  bower ; 

Breathless  as  fond  affection  keeps 

Her  silent  watch  where  childhood  sleeps — 

When  hark !  a  step  in  hall  and  bower, 

Seeking  the  track  which  others  shun ; 
Threading  alone  in  such  an  hour, 

The  tangled  paths,  the  ruined  tower  1. 


OF     ESTE.  41 

Oh,  who  would  seek  them  save  that  lonely  on  e  ' 

The  same  dark  sullen  form 

That  trod  the  haunts  when  mirth  was  warm  ; 

The  same  that  came  with  arms  and  hate, 

And  left  it  lifeless,  desolate  ! 

Year  after  year  had  passed — and  now, 

With  sunken  eye,  and  pallid  brow, 

And  heart  as  torpid  as  the  grave, 

Of  her  he  would  have  died  to  save  ; 

He  stood,  the  only  thing  of  breath, 

Where  all  was  silence,  withering,  death. 

Alone,  to  know  that  earth  hath  gloom 

More  cold  and  cheerless  than  the  tomb  ; 

Alone,  to  find  that  sin  can  wave 

A  deadlier  banner  than  the  grave. 

XIV. 

He  glanced  around — each  vaulted  height 
Gathered  a  deeper  gloom  from  night ; 
And  as  he  passed  there  was  a  sigh, 
As  some  light  spirit  flitted  by  ; 
Twas  but  the  echo  of  his  tread, 
Upon  the  pillow  of  the  dead. 
He  was  alone  within  the  shade 
By  that  vast  mould'ring  fabric  made  ; 
And  strange  congenial  destiny 
Had  wrought  for  them  a  kindred  tie ; 
Not  theirs  the  stilliness  where  age 
Has  gently  pressed  its  signet  sage  ; , 
4* 


42  THE    RIVALS 

But  passion  woke  with  fiery  sway. 

And  desolation  swept  the  way ! 

Oh,  in  that  hour  how  dark  the  track. 

As  memory  trod  her  desert  back : 

Again  was  filled  the  lordly  hall, 

Again  he  saw  them  bleed  and  fall ; 

And  an  icy  shivering  came 

O'er  his  stern,  unbending  frame, 

As  he  thought  on  the  gasp  and  parting  breath 

Of  him  that  he  had  vowed  to  death. 

Deep  had  his  wrongs  been,  and  he  gave 

To  soul  and  body  both  a  grave.* 


xv. 

And  she,  his  promised  bride, 

Uprising  from  her  fearful  tomb* 
And  lovely  as  in  hours  of  pride, 

He  saw  her  beauty  bloom  ; 
Ere  treachery  and  falsehood  came, 
To  cross  with  agony  and  shame  ; 
And  phantoms  of  an  hour  like  this, 
Their  purest,  brightest  dream  of  bliss — 
The  idol  of  his  bosom  yet, 
The  all  it  never  could  forget : 
Dear  when  the  world  for  them  was  light, 
And  dearer  now  in  sorrow's  night — 
The  deep  and  goading  memory 
Which  nev.er  yet  had  ceased  to  be  ; 

*  To  prevent  misapprehensions,  it  is  deemed  proper  to  observe,  that  the 
expression  "  grave  of  the  soul,"  is  not  meant  to  convey  the  idea  that  dea'J;  is 
eternal  sleep. 


OP     ESTE.  48 


But  like  the  lightning  fire,  consumed 
The  very  ruin  it  illumed — 
The  heart  that  clung  to  him  in  bliss, 
And  had  not  shrunk  in  hour  like  this ! 

She  sleeps  within  her  bower — 
The  fairest,  purest,  loveliest ; 

Where  many  a  gay  and  laughing  hout 
In  joy  caressing  and  caressed, 

She  caught  the  wild  bird's  note, 
And  mingled  as  it  passed  along 
Her  lute's  own  soft  and  silvery  song — 

There  do  the  night  damps  float ; 
And  song,  bird,  flower  are  nothing  now, 
The  green  turf  presses  on  her  brow  ; 
The  smile  is  gone — the  heart  is  chill, 
In  that  intensity  of  ill. 
Oh,  there  is  something  as  the  cloud 

Of  sorrow  blights  the  spirit's  bloom, 
More  sullen  than  the  sable  shroud 

Which  wraps  its  beauty  in  the  tomb 
Alas — that  flower  of  the  heart, 

Frailer  than  summer's  fairest  thing,. 
Vainly  we  bid  the  worm  depart, 

On  its  young  beauty  revelling  ; 
And  pity  pours  her  plaintive  strain 

Above  the  faded  blossoms  then- 
Weep,  stranger  weep,  tho'  tears  are  vain, 

'Twill  never— never  bloom  again. 


44  THE    RIVALS     OF     ESTE. 


XVI. 


Once  more  'tis  solitary,  lone, 

Where  love,  crime,  hatred  claimed  their  own  : 

And  owlets  rear  their  dusky  brood, 

Where  he,  the  dark  avenger,  stood. 

There  is  no  death- wail  by  that  grave, 

Save  as  the  night  wind  meets  the  wave  ; 

And  if  perchance  one  forest  flower 

Blushes  in  that  deserted  bower, 

Unloved,  unplucked,  its  beauties  glow 

Only  for  her  that  sleeps  below. 

He  is  not  there  whose  hand  should  fling 

Such  fragrance  o'er  her  lonely  bed  ; 
In  the  world's  tumult  withering, 

His  woes  are  mute — his  hopes  are  dead : 
No  lights  to  point  futurity, 
Nor  good  to  seek — nor  ill  to  flee  : 
But  dark  and  deadly  as  the  sea. 
That  rests  in  chill  tranquillity ; 
Alike  above  the  foul  and  fair, 
And  all  that  found  too  soon  their  last  cold  dwelling  there. 


HEBREW    MELODIES. 


HEBREW     MELODIES,  47 


Saul 

"  I  BID  from  old  ocean 

The  atom  return, 
And  mingle  in  motion 

The  dust  of  his  urn  ; 
From  tempests  I  gather 

The  matter  that  formed, 
And  snatch  from  the  fire 

The  spirit  that  warmed. 
Form  of  my  power, 

I  beckon  thee  here  ! 
Shade  of  the  sleeper, 

Appear!  appear!" 

Thus  the  Sybil  breathed  her  spell, 
And  the  viewless  owned  it  well ; 
Phantoms  came,  and  went,  and  came, 
Stranger  things  without  a  name  ; 
Till  the  wild  and  fitful  scene 
Wore  the  form  of  what  had  been. 
In  the  distance  dim  discerning, 
f^ike  the  taper's  feeble  burning, 
'Mid  the  mists  that  charnels  gather 
Over  sleeping  son  and  father, 
Stood  the  spirit ;  something  given, 
Fetter  link  'twixt  earth  and  Heaven : 


48  HEBREW     MELODIES. 

Nameless,  breathless,  shadowing, 
Yet  itself  a  shadowed  thing. 
Fearful  as  a  dungeon's  gloom, 
Stern  and  death-like  as  the  tomb, 
With  a  deep  and  hollow  sound, 
Thus  it  broke  the  still  profound  : 
"  Thing  of  an  hour, 

That  bade  me  appear, 
Shrink  from  the  power 

That  beckoned  me  here  ; 
For,  Chieftain,  of  sorrow 
My  breathings  must  be, 
I  hear  in  the  morrow 

Dark  voices  for  thee  ; 
Oh,  why  on  the  hidden 

Thus  bending  intent  ? 

Too  soon  for  thy  bosom 

The  veil  will  be  rent ! 

In  the  gathering  gloom  afar. 
I  but  see  a  falling  star  ; 
O'er  the  landscape  laughing  wide, 
Soft  I  mark  a  sweeping  tide  ; 
Now  the  silvery  waters  go 
Headlong  in  the  gulf  below ; 
Where  yon  sable  shadows  fall* 
I  can  read  a  crumbling  wall ; 
Buried  spear  and  broken  feast, 
Shame  upon  the  chosen  guest. 
Now  a  form  is  by  my  side* 
Sullied  are  its  robes  of  pride  > 


UEBEEW      MELODIES.  49 

Crouching  in  its  shame  it  comes? 
To  its  fathers'  voiceless  homes  ; 
Now  their  shadows  coldly  twine, 
And,  O  Chief,  that  form  is  thine  i 
Tremble,  for  in  all  I  see 
But  thy  own  dark  destiny  !" 


50  HEBREW     MELODIES, 


JOSHUA,  vi.  5. 

OH,  proud  was  thy  battle-cry,  Israel,  given 
When  gathered  thy  host  by  the  banner  of  Heaven  ; 
Like  the  sweep  of  dark  Kedron,  the  roll  of  this  tide, 
When  the  bands  of  thy  chosen  went  forth  in  their  pride. 

Hark !  hark  to  the  trumpet,  the  echo  from  far, 
The  leader  of  princes,  he  speeds  to  the  war  ! 
His  arm  is  thy  resting,  his  breath  is  thy  svyord, 
And  nations  shall  faint  at  the  voice  of  his  word. 

Let  the  cheer  of  the  foe  o'er  their  battlements  tower, 
Ye  shroud  by  the  night-star  the  pride  of  their  power  ; 
All  bright  in  the  sun-beam  their  triumphs  may  wave, 
To-morrow  that  glory  is  cold  in  the  grave. 

When  pealed  thy  wild  shout  to  the  blue  mantled  sky, 
How  the  foeman  shrunk  back  as  he  heard  it  pass  by  ; 
The  torches  grew  pale  in  the  halls  of  their  mirth, 
And  turret  and  battlement  crumbled  to  earth. 

Oh,  where  is  the  name  like  thine,  mighty  in  story  I 
The  Lord  with  thy  triumphs  has  blended  his  glory  ; 
Then  lift  the  dark  eye  to  the  azure  that's  o'er  thee, 
And  rush  for  the  chaplets  that  brighten  before  thee. 


HEBREW     MELODIES.  51 


2  KINGS;  vii.  6. 

WHERE  had  thy  war-host,  oh  Israel !  fled, 
When  ye  crouched  at  the  sound  of  the  Syrian's  tread  / 
Nor  raised  was  the  banner,  nor  grappled  the  sword, 
Yet  the  Syrian  shrunk  at  the  voice  of  the  Lord. 

It  came  when  at  midnight  was  closed  every  eye  ; 
Hark  !  startling  and  fearful  it  burst  from  the  sky  ! 
And  chariot  and  horsemen,  with  crash  and  with  clang, 
All  trackless  and  wild  o'er  the  slumberers  rang  ! 

The  foeman  leaped  up  ;  fly,  oh  fly  from  the  strife, 
Leave  purple  and  silver,  and  rush  for  your  life  I 
Through  thy  forests,  Manasseh,  they  swept  like  the  wind. 
And  the  anger  of  Heaven  rolled  fiercely  behind ! 

Rise,  daughters  of  Judah,  no  wail  for  the  slain 
Shall  mingle  a  sigh  with  your  harp's  merry  strain  ; 
And  gather  young  garlands,  and  bind  on  your  browf 
The  red  drops  rest  not  on  their  loveliness  now. 

Yet  no  Chieftain  shall  laugh  in  the  pride  of  his  might, 
To  the  King  of  the  Kingly,  the  sword  of  the  fight ; 
Be  the  gush  of  your  heart  at  his  altar  seat  poured, 
And  wreathe  a  green  leaf  round  the  shrine  of  the  Lord  * 


HEBREW     MELODIES. 


ISAIAH,  Ixiv.  11. 

How  proudly  burst  the  golden  light  of  day 

Upon  the  temple  where  Jehovah  stood  ; 
How  softly  twiliglit  flung  its  parting  ray 

Upon  his  altar's  holy  solitude ! 
For  there,  commingling  bright,  the  sunbeam  met 

Its  essence  in  the  day  spring  of  the  sky ; 
His  fiat  warms  its  golden  glory  yet — 

33ut  thine,  my  land,  was  quenched  in  agony. 

^et  when  from  yonder  broad  blue  arch  of  Heaven 

I  see  the  storm  cloud  roll  its  gloom  away  ; 
Shall  I  not  dream  of  thee  as  free,  forgiven  ? 

Thou  'It  start  to  more  them  glory's  primal  day, 
Oh,  never  does  the  breeze  of  ocean  bear 

The  fragrance  of  thy  desolated  shore  \ 
But  with  its  sighs,  my  country,  thine  is  there, 

And  thy  sad  murmur  sweeps  the  Waters  o'es. 

1  cannot  mingle  with  the  breath  of  flowers 

One  thought  of  loveliness  not  born  of  thee  ; 
I  cannot  tread  the  sweet  and  laughing  bowers, 

And  e'er  forget  thee,  in  their  revelry  ; 
Oh  no  !  thy  broken  shrines,  thy  blackened  towers. 

That  rose  so  proudly  by  fair  Galilee, 
Come  coldly  on  the  brightness  of  those  hours  ; 

And  from  them  all  I  turn  to  sigh  for  thee. 


HEBREW     MELODIES.  53 


PSALM  cxxxvii. 

COME,  sweep  the  harp  !  one  thrilling  rush 

Of  all  that  warmed  its  chords  to  song, 
And  then  the  strains  for  ever  hush 

That  oft  have  breathed  its  wires  along  1 
The  ray  is  quenched  that  lit  our  mirth, 

The  shrine  is  gone  that  claimed  the  prayer ; 
And  exiles  o'er  the  distant  earth, 

How  can  we  wake  the  carol  there. 

One  sigh,  rny  harp !  and  then  to  sleep, " 

For  all  that  loved  thy  song  have  flown  ; 
Why  should'st  thou  lonely  vigils  keep, 

Forsaken,  broken,  and  alone  ? 
Let  this  sad  murmur  be  thy  last, 

Nor  e'er  again  in  music  swell ; 
Thine  hours  of  joyousness  are  past, 

And  thus  we  sever  :  fare  thee  well ! 


54  HEBREW     MELODIES. 


JEREMIAH,  iv«  30. 

IN  vain  the  crimson  garment  now. 

It  wraps  a  feeble  limb ; 
In  vain  the  jewel  decks  the  brow, 

The  eye  beneath  is  dim: 
For  days  gone  by,  for  days  to  come. 
In  weary  thoughts  of  blasted  home>  -\2  'i»i '•'. 
Does  Judah's  heart,  and  Judah's  eye, 
Darken  amid  your  revelry. 

Ye  have  your  homes,  your  hearths  ;  your  sires 

Sleep  'neath  the  garden  tree  ; 
Where  are  our  hearths,  our  altar  fires? 

And  what,  oh  what  are  \ve  ? 
3Tis  our's  to  pour  the  tear-drop  fast* 
Above  the  bright  and  buried  past ; 
For  this  does  Judah's  heart  and  eye 
Turn  sickening  from  your  revelry* 


HEBREW     MELODIES. 


JEREMIAH,  x.  17. 

FROM  the  halls  of  our  fathers  in  anguish  we  fled, 
Nor  again  will  its  marble  re-echo  our  tread ; 
For  a  breath  like  the  Siroc  has  blasted  our  name, 
And  the  frown  of  Jehovah  has  crushed  us  in  shame. 

His  robe  was  the  whirlwind,  his  voice  was  the  thunder 

And  earth  at  his  footstep  was  riven  asunder ; 

The  mantle  of  midnight  had  shrouded  the  sky, 

But  we  knew  where  He  stood  by  the  flash  of  his  eye, 

Oh,  Judah  !  how  long  must  thy  weary  ones  weep, 
Far,  far  from  the  land  where  their  forefathers  sleep  ; 
How  long  ere  the  glory  that  brightened  the  mountain 
Will  welcome  the  exile  to  Siloa's  fountain  ? 


56  HEBREW     MELODIES. 


JEREMIAH,  xxii.  10. 

OH,  weep  not  for  the  dead !. 
Rather,  oh  rather  give  the  tear 
To  those  that  darkly  linger  here. 

When  all  besides  are  fled  ; 
Weep  for  the  spirit  withering  ' 
In  its  cold  cheerless  sorrowing, 
Weep  for  the  young  and  lovely  one 
That  ruin  darkly  revels  on  ; . 

But  never  be  a  tear-drop  shed 

For  them,  the  pure  enfranchised  dead. 

Oh,  weep  not  for  the  dead  1 
No  more  for  them  the  blighting  chill, 
The  thousand  shades  of  earthly  ill, 

The  thousand  thorns  we  tread ; 
Weep  for  the  life-charm  early  flown. 
The  spirit  broken,  bleeding,  lone  ; 
Weep  for  the  death  pangs  of  the  heart.. 
Ere  being  from  the  bosom  part ; 

But  never  be  a  tear-drop  given, 

To  those  that  rest  in  yon  blue  heaven. 


POEM  8. 


SYBIL  I  look  upon  my  brow, 

Read  to  me  my  destiny  ; 
Mark  the  thoughts  that  even  now 

Burn  to  burst  their  secrecy. 
Many  a  bright  and  laughing  morrow, 
Cradling  in  the  sigh  of  sorrow  : 
Or  in  lines  of  light  revealing 
Withered  hope  and  blasted  feeling  ; 
Sybil,  speak  !  whate'er  the  spell, 
Name,  for  1  can  hear  it  well. 

Tell  of  blisses  rich  and  rare, 

Wooing  hearts  to  meet  them,  never; 
Tell  of  all  that's  bright  and  fair, 

Grappled,  dashed  aside,  for  ever  : 
Tell  of  roses  plucked,  and  withering, 
Storm  clouds  in  the  blue  sky  gathering  ; 
Serpents  coiling  round  the  bower,  * 
Blasted  bud,  and  falling  flower  ; 
Sybil,  speak  !  whate'er  it  be, 
Read  to  me  futurity  ! 

I  have  trod  the  mountain  track, 

Where  ambition  rears  her  brood  ; 

i  have  flung  the  vesture  back, 

Dared  to  look  on  ill  and  good : 


60  D  E  S  T I N  T. 

Day-beams  on  the  spirit  flashing? 
Idle  dreams  of  beauty  dashing  ; 
With  a  shudder  and  a  feeling, 
Earth's  cold  nakedness  revealing  ; 
Sybil,  speak !  no  spell  ye  bind 
That  my  thoughts  will  shrink  to  find. 

Shall  I  win  the  golden  flow 

Of  young  promise  satisfied, 
But  to  wake  in  depths  below, 

Colder,  deeper,  darker  tide  ? 
There  by  fancy  lit  and  shaded, 
Low  recline  the  frail  and  faded  ; 
Phantoms  like  the  bubble  buried 
In  the  wave  that  o'er  them  hurried  : 
Sybil,  speak !  the  gathering  gloom, 
Wraps  it  beauty  or  a  tomb  ? 

I  can  nerve  to  meet  the  scorn, 

I  can  bear  the  scorching  flame  ; 
'Tis  but  once  to  cloud  the  morn, 

But  the  blighting  of  one  name : 
Bloom  or  burning,  joy  or  anguish, 
'Tis  but  once  to  writhe  or  languish  : 
Speak  the  muttered  malin  louder, 
Never  can  ye  crush  a  prouder  ; 
Speak !  and  be  futurity, 
Dark  or  bright,  unveiled  to  me  ! 


STfte 


FAREWELL  to  thee. 
To  thee,  the  young  home  of  my  heart,  farewell 
How  often  will  thy  form  in  memory 

Renew  the  spell ; 

Each  burning  tone, 

Par  sweeter  than  the  wild  birds  melting  note 
Across  rny  spirit  like  a  dream  by  gone, 

Their  voices  float. 

When  rose  the  song. 

The  life  gush  of  the  bosom,  fresh  and  free, 
.There  breathed  no  sorrow  as  it  swept  along 

Thy  halls  of  glee; 

Oh,  when  the  gay, 

The  merry  hearted  blend  the  tide  again, 
Then  fling  to  her,  the  loved  one  far  away, 

One  kindly  strain. 

The  skies  are  bright 

That  canopy  thy  bowers,  my  soul's  young  rest . 
And,  like  thy  fairy  visions  robed  in  light, 

The  loveliest  : 

The  bird  among 

Thy  deep  perfumes  pours  its  rich  melody  ; 
*0h,  in  the  music  of  that  matin  song 

Remember  me ! 


i 


62  THE     BRIBERS     FAREWELL. 

Another  now, 

Mother,  above  thy  silvery  locks  must  bend  ; 
And  when  the  death-shade  gathers  on  thy  brow. 

Who  then  will  tend 

Thy  fading  light  ? 

Oh,  in  its  gleam  all  feebly,'  tremblingly, 
The  last  gush  of  thy  spirit  in  its  flight, 

Remember  me ! 

Sister,  one  sigh 

Upon  the  midnight's  balmy  breath  did  float ; 
One  love-lit  smile  beneath  the  summer  sky, 

One  echo  note : 

Oh,  never  yet, 

Through  love,  life,  music,  feeling,  fragrancy, 
Can  I  the  mingling  of  those  hours  forget ; 

Remember  me ! 

The  chained  spell 

Is  strong,  my  own  fair  home,  that  bids  us  sever  : 
And  bound  in  loveliness  to  break,  no,  never. ! 

Then  fare  thee  well : 

And  perished  here, 

As  from  the  rosy  leaf  the  dew  that  fell, 
J  dash  from  love's  young  wreath  the  passing  tear  ; 

My  own  bright  home,  farewell ! 


jUomnncc. 

No  more  the  sound  of  revelry 

Is  heard  within  the  lordly  hall ; 
And  .warrior's  jest,  and  maiden's  glee, 

And  minstrel's  song,  have  sunken  all. 
A  louder  note  is  heard  afar, 
The  clarion  cry  calls  on  to  war  ; 
And  that  deep  death-peal  stills  the -strain; 
That  echoed  from  those  walls  again. 
Minstrel !  thy  harp  can  charm  no  more. 
Maiden  !  thy  dream  of  bliss  is  o'er  ; 
Thy  warrior  starts  in  haste  to  grasp 

The  battle  sword,  and  flings  aside 
The  last  fond  agonizing  clasp 

Of  her  he  vowed  to  make  his  bride. 
No  thoughts  are  now  for  love  and  thee, 
Young  glory  points  his  destiny  ; 
Where  waves  on  high  the  banner  crest. 
And  the  rude  war-cry  lulls  to  rest. 

Sleep  on  blue  lake,  a  lonely  one 

Is  gazing  on  thee  now  ; 
O'er  whose  young  heart  the  wave  of  life 

Flowed  calm  and  bright  as  thou  ; 
The  ray  that  lit  the  stream  is  gone, 
4nd  it  glides  on,  dull,  dark,  and 


ROMANCE. 

How  proudly  stood  that  warrior  knight^ 

How  joyously  the  sunbeams  played, . 
When  glittering  steel  and  armor  bright 

Bespoke  him  for  the  fight  arrayed  '. 
The  plume  upon  his  casque  was  fair, 
And  one  bright  jewel  bound  it  there  ; 
Nor  e'er  in  monarch's  diadem 
Has  shone  a  brighter,  purer  gem. 

That  warrior  passed  to  meet  the  foe ; 

Then  came  the  mingled  din  of  strife, 
And  steel  to  steel  in  deadly  blow,     • 

And  the  close  grapple,  life  to  life. 
The  battle  tide  rushed  darkly  on 
O'er  many  a  proud  and  mighty  one ; 
And  clang  of  sword,  and  crash  of  spear 
One  mighty  tumult  struck  the  ear. 
Where'er  the  deadliest  conflict  broke, 
Where'er  the  cannon's  thunder  woke, 

That  warrior  met  the  fight ; 
Till  backward  sunk  the  foeman's  train. 

Like  the  recoil  of  ocean's  wave  ; 
Then,  quick,  impetuous  o'er  the  plain. 

Still  foremost  mid  the  victor  brave. 
That  warrior  led  the  victor  band  : 
\nd  blood,  red  blood  was  on  his  hand. 
\nd  blood  was  on  his  plume  of  snow, 
But  ah,  still  bright,  the  gem  below ! 
Bow  pure  that  jewel  must  have  been. 
To  cross  each  dark  and  deadly  scene 


ROMANCE.  65 

And  mingle  in  such  fierce  affray, 
Yet  pass  un  soiled  and  bright  away ! 

"  And  now  the  victor's  chaplet  bring, 

We'll  twine  it  on  his  brow  ;" 
Its  dark  green  honors  sure  will  fling 

A  shade  upon  the  gem  below. 
Ah,  no  !  it  sparkles  bright  and  clear, 
Though  to  his  heart  perchance  less  dear  ; 
And  though  the  laurel  steals  away 
Remembrance  of  its  pearly  ray, 
It  cannot  chase  that  gem  away, 
Nor  sully  o'er  its  purity. 

Hark !  where  the  moon-beams  brightly  sleep  * 

Upon  the  waveless  sea, 
What  spirit  forms  their  vigils  keep, 
In  notes  of  music,  soft  and  deep  ? 

It  is  thy  voice  fair  Italy. 
Oh,  never  let  thy  sorcery  come 

Across  the  wanderer's  career  ; 
'Twill  teach  him  to  forget  his  home* 

And  the  soft  blue  eye  weeping  there= 

That  warrior  brave  now  treads  the  haflsr>; 

Where  syren  songs  of  pleasure  flow  ; 
The  fairy  chaplets  deck  the  walls, 

And  bright- eyed  beauty  smiles  below: 


ROMANCE. 

A  thousand  blazing  lustres  stream, 

Bright  as  the  meteor  of  the  pole  ; 
Joy  cross'd  the  wild  enchanted  dream. 

And  flung  her  fetters  o'er  the  soul. 
That  warrior  plucked  the  sweetest  flower. 

The  brightest  gem  was  twined  for  him ; 
But  'neath  the  witchery  of  that  hour, 

Ah  !  did  the  gem  beneath  grow  dim  ? 
Deep  was  the  magic  of  the  scene, 

A  rosy  circle  round  his  brow  ; 
Still,  all  forgotten  and  unseen, 

The  gem  was  pure  and  bright  below. 
And  when  the  flower  had  pass'd  away. 

And  the  fair  form  of  beauty  gone, 
Beyond  the  touch  of  dull  decay, 

Still  will  that  jewel  sparkle  on. 

What,  was  its  ray  so  pearly  fair, 

All  time,  and  chance,  and  change  above 
'Twas  woman  bade  it  sparkle  there, 

An  emblem  of  a  woman's  love. 
Oh  scorn  it  not ;  'twill  closest  cling* 
When  all  is  dark  and  sorrowing  ; 
Will  gild  for  thee  life's  stormy  wave, 
And  beacon  thee  beyond  the  grave'. 


'TWAS  in  the  still  and  dreamy  night, 

Scarce  one  light  echo  woke  to  sound ; 
And  many  an  orb  of  silver  light, 

Was  rolling  thro'  the  blue  profound  ; 
The  air-waves  lay  in  calm  repose, 
The  dew-drop  trembled  on  the  rose ; 
Fancy  her  wings  of  light  unfurled, 
And  sought  afar  a  brighter  world, 
Where  all  is  beautiful  and  fair ; 
No  taint  of  our  dull  being  there, 
No  loves  that  soothe  awhile  to  perish, 
No  hopes  that  wring  the  life  they  cherish 
But  pure  and  holy  odours  fall, 
From  passion's  deathless  coronal. 

Moonlight !  there  is  a  smile  or  sigh. 
In  every  ray  that  cleaves  the  sky  ; 
The  spell  of  earlier  hours  to  bring, 
Or  point  the  heart's  imagining  : 
Then  is  the  lyre  of  feeling  swept, 
To  many  a  note  that  long  hath  slept  - 
And  darkly  is  the  spirit  pour'd, 
fn  every  deep  impassioned  chord-. 


MIDNIGHT. 

The  withered  wreath  on  memory's  shrine 

Half  blooms  beneath  the  silent  tear  ; 
While  phantoms,  more  than  half  divine, 

Lighten  the  desolation  here : 
Why  come  ye  then,  ye  visions  bright, 
Like  the  wild  meteor  of  the  night ; 
Flashing  above  that  living  tomb, 
The  bosom's  cold  sepulchral  gloom  ? 
They  came — the  beautiful  and  good, 
As  'neath  that  midnight  ray  I  stood, 
All  purely,  exquisitely  stealing  ; 
But  darkness  was  in  their  revealing  : 
"  My  charmed  wreaths  I  lightly  twine 
For  many  a  heart,  but  none  for  thine  •!•' ' 

I  saw  young  love  ;  his  fairy  bowers 

Circled  by  many  a  rosy  band  ; 
And  ah,  the  sweet  and  blushing  fkfwers 
W«re  gaily  plucked  by  many  a  hand  ; 
The  perfumed  breezes  broke  the  air, 
And  merry  sunlights  lingered  there. 
I  saw  them  all ;  from  that  emblem  flower 
Of  passion  in  its  brightest  hour, 
To  the  red  lotus  wreath  that  bore 
The  laugher  to  the  Indian  shore  ;* 
And  many  a  one  of  sadder  dye, 
Yet  fit  in  purity  to  vie, 
And  some  that  crushed,  but  flung  behind, 
A  deeper  fragrance  to  the  wind ;  - 


*  The  Indians  say,  that  Cupid  was  first  seen  gliding  down  the  Ganges,  on  rbe 
Nymphia  Nelumbo.— Pennant 


MIDNIGHT.  6& 

L  saw  the  lovely  and  the  fair 

Rush  on  to  pluck  the  flowrets  there  : 

I  heard  the  heart's  light  revelry, 

And  felt — there  was  no  flower  for  me  ' 

Clouds  and  sunshine  mingling  met, 
Rut  the  scene  was  lovely  yet ; 
And  when  awhile  a  shadow  hung 

Upon  the  azure  of  the  sky, 
That  sunlight  on  its  darkness  flung 

A  pure  and  potent  radiancy  ; 
It  was  a  high  and  hallowed  light, 

Gilding  the  clouds  it  could  not  fade. 
And  lingering  in  its  beauty  bright, 

For  aye  upon  the  deepest  shade  ; 
Then  came  the  music  of  the  heart, 

The  softened  tones  that  bliss  can  bring. 
The  wilder  note  in  thrilling  start, 

As  frolic  pleasure  sweeps  the  string  ; 
Soft  the  enchanted  measures  stole 
In  melting  murmurs  o'er  my  soul ; 
Like  the  deep  mingled  voices  given 
To  our  imaginings  of  Heaven. 
I  stood  in  solitude  apart, 
There  was  no  music  for  my  heart ; 
I  might  have  breathed  as  gay  a  strain  ; 
The  thought  was  wild,  the  wish  was  vain : 
That  music  sinking  now,  now  swelling? 
Fts  varied  tale  of  rapture  telling, 


TO  MIDNIGHT. 

Soft  as  the  silver  bells  are  flinging,* 
For  ever  from  the  eternal  trees, 
As  trembling  in  the  fragrant  breeze, 
By  Allah's  throne,  their  notes  are  ringing 
That  music  burst  upon  my  ear, 
To  every  dream  of  fancy  dear  ; 
But  not  to  bring,  no,  not  for  me, 
Its  ravishing,  deep  melody. 

Oh  !  there  is  in  the  heart  a  note 

That  asks  for  a  congenial  string. - 
Awake  that  mystic  note  alone, 

It  shrinks  from  its  own  echoing. 
The  lonely  hour,  the  pallid  beam 
That  plays  upon  the  crystal  stream, 
The  midnight  breeze  that  whispers  by. 
Each  orb  that  rolls  the  trackless  sky, 
Away !  away,  ye  sorceries, 
That  deeply  lurk  in  such  as  these  ! 
Ye  cross  the  vigils  darkly  kept, 
Ye  wake  the  dreams  that  long  have  slept 
Away !  let  cold  oblivion's  pall 
O'er  every  youthful  vision  fall ; 
And  every  idol  deeply  rest 
In  the  cold  silence  of  the  breast. 

*  Sale. 


Sotttentr. 

'TWAS  but  an  hour  they  met ;  the  next  they  severed  ; 

Each  to  find  other  pleasures,  other  friends. 

Hour  after  hour,  year  after  year  rolled  on, 

But  saw  them  never,  never  meet  again. 

The  sun  in  glory  set,  the  moon  rose  bright, 

The  flowrets  bloomed,  and  died,  and  bloomed  again  ; 

Some  hearts  were  hushed  in  death  ;  others  beat  close 

To  hearts  they  loved,  and  some  forgot  to  love. 

She  had  found  other  friends,  and  other  hopes  ; 

And  had  decked  other  forms  ;  but  ah,  not  with 

The  rainbow  tints  that  fancy  threw  around  him, 

'Twas  but  a  little  hour  ;  and  time  passed  on, 
But  saw  them  never,  never  meet  again. 
It  was  not  mountain  top,  nor  valley  green, 
Nor  gush  of  waters,  nor  the  song  of  birds, 
That  wove  him  with  existence  ;  he  had  twined 
No  sunny  flowrets  in  the  wreath  of  life  ;  . 
Yet  lingered  he  upon  her  brain  ;  a  spell 
To  people  solitude,  and  make  the-  crowd 
A  solitude,  save  that  one  nameless  thought, 
Linked  with  her  very  being,  till  it  grew 
The  bright  spot  even  of  futurity. 


72  SOUVENIR. 

And  time  passed  on  ;  hour  after  hour  passed  on> 

But  saw  them  never,  never  meet  again. 

At  last,  cold  whispers  came  from  distant  lands, 

Of  other  home,  bright  eyes,  and  sunny  smiles, 

And  vows,  and  idols  ;  it  was  all,  perchance, 

His  heart  had  pictured  in  its  dreams  of  bliss  : 

She  breathed  nor  agony,  nor  sound,  nor  word ; 

A  sudden  chill  swept  o'er  the  heart's  young  flood  ^ 

Vacancy  told  of  something  that  had  been, 

A  something  treasured,  worshipped,  cherished  $ 

And  now,  all  nameless  as  it  had  been,  crushed. 

Nameless,  and  fathomless  ;  the  thousand  chains 

By  youth,  love,  feeling,  fancy,  passion  wrought ; 

There  is  no  word  to  tell,  no  echo  for 

The  viewless  link  that  rivets  heart  to  heart ; 

And  life,  nor  balm,  nor  answer,  when  it  turns 

To  wear  and  gnaw  the  iron  of  the  soul. 

Time  passed  along  ;  but  oft  at  midnight  hour 

A  form  hung  round  her  pillow  ;  and  that  form 

Was  bright  in  beauty  :  sometimes  gay  and  glad, 

He  laughed,  and  called  her  "  love  ;"  and  then  he  seemed 

Like  one,  who,  in  her  youth,  she  *d  learned  to  love  : 

And  when  the  dream  was  gone,  it  left — a  sigh. 


Romance* 

THE  warrior  knelt  before  the  maid, 

A  blush  was  on  her  cheek, 
Telling,  as  o'er  her  brow  it  played, 

What  not  her  tongue  would  speak  : 
>;  Ah,  yes,"  he  softly  said,  "  thou'lt  be 

My  own,  my  lily  bride  ;" 
And  still,  in  maiden  purity, 

That  maiden  blush  replied. 

Life,  love,  and  hope  were  in  their  spring 

Beneath  a  cloudless  sky  ; 
The  wild  bird  spread  its  silken  wing, 

But  breathed  less  melody  : 
Young  nectar  from  the  myrtle  bower 

The  honey-bee  might  sip  ; 
The  warrior  found  a  sweeter  flower 

In  the  dew  of  that  maiden's  lip. 

Still  does  the  wild  bird  cleave  the  sky? 
The  honey-bee  is  glad  ; 

Why  dim  with  tears  that  maiden's  eye. 
And  why  that  warrior  sad  ? 

Maiden !  dost  fear  to  meet  the  storm 
That  shades  a  soldier's  way, 

The  gems  that  deck  a  lordling's  form- 
Dost  sigh  for  such  as  they  ? 
7 


74  ROMANCE. 

"  I  woo  thee  not  with  glittering  braid. 

And  jewels  for  thy  hair  ; 
The  golden  gift  that  wins  thee,  maid, 

An  idle  vow  may  bear  :" 
Still  does  the  wild  bird  cleave  the  sky. 

The  honey-bee  is  glad  ; 
Why  dim  with  tears  that  maiden's  eye. 

And  why  that  warrior  sad  ? 

•'  To  horse  !  to  horse  !  my  melody 

Shall  be  the  battle  cry  ; 
And  the  war-trump  of  victory 

As  sweet  as  woman's  sigh  ! 
For  fettered  birds  go  free  again, 

And  love  can  dream  of  scorn, 
When  woman  idly  weaves  the  chain, 

As  idly  be  it  worn." 

Still  does  the  wild  bird  cleave  the  sky, 

The  honey-bee  is  gay  ; 
But  tears  bedimmed  that  maiden's  eye 

As  the  warrior  passed  away. 
*;They  say  there's  bliss  in  princely  train. 

And  in  a  robe  of  pride  ; 
Then  wake  for  me  the  bridal  strain" — 

The  maiden  said,  and  sighed. 

Loud  laughter  fills  the  banquet  hall, 
There's  music  in  the  grove, 

And  steps  as  light  as  music  fall 
To  catch  the  voice  of  love. 


ROMANCE.  75 

She  led  the  dance  in  merry  glee. 

Her  song  was  on  the  wind ; 
And  the  red  rose  lay  carelessly 

Within  her  tress  reclined. 

But  hark !  the  harper's  minstrelsy, 

Of  other  days  a  part ! 
She  glanced  upon  the  myrtle-tree, 

And  coldness  crossed  her  heart ; 
And  a  shade  was  on  the  festal  hour, 

The  jewel  lights  grew  dim  ; 
She  only  saw  that  myrtle  bower, 

She  only  thought  of  him. 

"  Oh  take  me  where  the  breezes  swell,  ~ 

Far  from  the  haunts  of  pride  ; 
For  they  say  there's  joy  where  wild  flowers  dwell," 

The  maiden  said,  and  sighed. 
The  forest  blossoms  bind  her  brow, 

But  the  heart  is  cold  below  ; 
And  if  she  wake  the  harp-strings  now, 

What  can  they  breathe  but  wo  ? 

•'  That  dream,  that  dream — it  comes  again, 

Linked  with  its  broken  vow  ;. 
As  beautiful,  as  frail  as  then, 

They  stand  before  me  now  ! 
Gather  the  young,  the  fair,  the  free. 

Where  a  thousand  torches  glare  ; 
With  lyre,  and  wreath,  and  revelry, 

Still  is  that  vision  there  ! 


ROMANCE. 

It  comes,  when  summer  skies  are  bright,. 

On  the  laugh  of  the  morning  breeze ; 
It  comes,  when  evening's  misty  light 

Has  swept  the  sleeping  seas  ; 
An  early  rest  in  the  sullen  pall, 

One  dream  with  the  death  pang  wove ; 
Oh,  never  of  gems,  or  of  festal  hall, 

But  that  first  young  dream  of  love ! 


77 


Contrast* 


THE  golden  lights  had  chased  the  gloom 

Of  midnight  far  away, 
And  roses  with  their  rich  perfume 

In  many  a  cluster  lay  ; 
The  banquet  spread,  the  goblets  bright 

Flashed  at  the  revel  call, 
And  music  in  her  robes  of  light 

Hung  o'er  the  festival  ; 
Then  gathered  round  the  royal  board, 

A  small  but  princely  band, 
And  gaily  was  the  wine  juice  poured 

To  trusted  heart  and  hand. 

"  Foam  bright  the  cup  !  its  brilliancy 

Shall  chase  the  saddening  tear  ; 
Foam  bright  the  cup  !  our  pledge  shall  be, 

Dreams  of  an  earlier  year  ; 
Dreams,  like  the  red  drop  sparkling 

For  the  drinker  on  its  brim, 
While  far  below  lies  darkling 

The  sullen  drop  for  him. 
We've  quaffed  it  all  ;  yet  fill  to-night, 

And  win  the  spell  again  ; 
And  rush  the  tide  of  feeling,  bright 

As  rushed  the  torrent  then." 
7* 


78  THE     CONTRAST 

In  vain,  in  vain  young  roses  rest 
As  beautiful  as  ever  ; 

But,  oh !  the  freshness  of  the  breast, . 
When  lost,  is  lost  for  ever ; 

And  eyes  are  dim,  and  furrows  now 
Have  cradled  many  a  care  ; 

And  lights  flash  sunshine  on  the  brow- 
To  wake  but  shadows  there. 

Where  is  the  matin  minstrelsy, 

The  spirit  flow  of  song— 
When  every  wave  gushed  melody, 

As  it  rushed  in  light  along  ? 
Fill  high  the  cup !  for  visions  start 

Beneath  its  foamy  play  ; 
But  the  warm  currents  of  the  heart. 

Oh  tell  me,  where  are  they  ? 

Each  saw  the  sullen  pall, 

Shrouding  the  brave  and  good  ; 
'Twas  like  the  cold  memorial 

By  Egypt's  feast  that  stood  ; 
Sadly  they  turned,*  and  silently. 

From  the  banquet  board  that  night ; 
And  eyes  were  lifted  mournfully 

To  yon  bright  heaven  of  light. 


*  The  Quarterly  speaks  of  a  club  in  Edinburgh,  convoked  when  the  mem 
bers  were  far  advanced  in  yewe:  the  contrast  was  too  painful— they  never  me 
again. 


1  HEARD  the  music  of  the  wave, 

As  it  rippled  to  the  shore  ; 
And  saw  the  willow  branches  lave, 

As  light  winds  swept  them  o'er  ; 
The  music  of  the  golden  bow, 

That  did  the  torrent  span ; 
But  I  heard  a  sweeter  music  flow 

From  the  youthful  heart  of  man . 

The  wave  rushed  on  ;  the  hues  of  Heave i 

Fainter  and  fainter  grew  ; 
And  deeper  melodies  were  given 

As  swift  the  changes  flew  : 
Then  came  a  shadow  on  my  sight, 

The  golden  bow  was  dim ; 
And  he  that  laughed  beneath  its  light, 

What  was  the  change  to  him  ? 

I  saw  him  not ;  only  a  throng 

Like  the  swell  of  troubled  ocean. 
Rising,  sinking,  swept  along 

In  the  tempest's  wild  commotion  ; 
Sleeping,  dreaming,  waking  then. 

Chains  to  link  or  sever ; 
Turning  to  the  dream  again, 

Fain  to  clasp  it  ever. 


80  DREAM     OF    LIFE. 

There  was  a  rush  upon  my  brain, 

A  darkness  on  mine  eye ; 
And  when  I  turned  to  gaze  again, 

The  mingled  forms  were  nigh  ; 
In  shadowy  mass  a  mighty  hall 

Rose  on  the  fitful  scene  ; 
Flowers,  music,  gems  were  flung  o'er  all". 

Not  such  as  once  had  been. 

Then  in  its  mist,  far,  far  away, 

A  phantom  seemed  to  be  ; 
The  something  of  a  gone-by  day, 

But  oh,  how  changed  was  he ! 
He  rose  beside  the  festal  board, 

Where  sat  the  merry  throng ; 
And  as  the  purple  juice  he  poured 

Thus  woke  his  wassail  song — 

SONG. 

Come  !  while  with  wine  the  goblets  flow. 
For  wine  they  say  has  power  to  bless  ; 

And  flowers  too  ;  not  roses,  no  ! 
Bring  poppies,  bring  forgetfulness  ! 

A  Lethe  for  departed  bliss, 

And  each  too  well  remembered  scene  , 
Earth  has  no  sweeter  draught  than  this, 

Which  drowns  the  thought  of  what  has  been 


DREAM     OF    LIFE.  81 

Here's  to  the  heart's  cold  iciness, 

Which  cannot  smile,  but  will  not  sigh  ; 

If  wine  can  bring  a  chill  like  this, 
Come,  fill  for  me  the  goblet  high. 

Come  ;  and  the  cold,  the  false,  the  dead 

Shall  never  cross  our  revelry ; 
We  '11  kiss  the  wine-cup  sparkling  red. 

And  snap  the  chain  of  memory. 


82- 


"  The  wretched  are  the  faithful."— BYRON. 

earth's  cold  joylessness 

Once  more  to  thee  ;  once  more  to  thee  ;• 

There  is  a  tie  in  memory* 
I  would  not  seek  to  Jove  it  less ; 
It  is  a  bright  and  silvery  chain, 
How  can  it  leave  my  heart  again ! 
It  was  a  happy  hour ; 

The  wild  bird  sings  a  note  less  sweet 

Than  when  congenial  spirits  meet 
In  youth's  enchanted  bower  : 
Youth  !  thine  is  all  of  heaven  below, 
How  softly  sweet  thy  blushes  glow  ! 
How  light  thy  step,  how  bright  thine  eye, 
Ere  it  has  glanced  on  misery  ! 
Beauty  shrinks  from  the  cold  caress 

Of  ravaging,  remorseless  Time  ; 

That  nurse  of  tears,  and  cares,  and  crime 
Yet  still  we  trust  its  power  to  bless, 
And  trust,  and  are  deceived,  and  press 
To  trust  again,  deceitfulness. 

Youth  !  thou  art  all  that  beauty  loves, 
Smiles,  flowers,  the  music  of  the  groves  : 
The  rainbow  of  yon  heaven,  all  die, 
While  cloudless  still  the  summer  sky  ; 


TASS'O.  83 

And  oh,  the  heart  has  lost  its  bloom 

Long  ere  it  slumbers  in  the  tomb : 

We  wander  where  the  world  is  bright. 

Self-shrouded  in  a  starless  night ; 

Cold,  loveless  as  the  shadowy  form 

Of  all  that  slumbers  with  the  worm  ! 

The  world  is  powerless  to  bless, 

We've  met  it  in  its  heartlessness  -, 

Its  magic  veil  is  rent  in  twain, 

And  all  reality  again  ; 

And  from  its  proffered  fair  and  good, 

We  rush  to  pray  in  solitude, 

One  tear  to  all  that  passed  away, 

Bright,  fleeting  as  the  summer's  ray"; 

Even  as  I  turn  to  thee, 

Thou  starlight  on  my  memory ; 

What  though  it  shows  more  coldly  clear 

The  utter  desolation  here  ; 

The  waste  of  thought,  the  blight  of  heart, 

Oh,  never  may  its  light  depart. 

Thou  ;  the  young  idol  yet 

Of  all  my  spirit  should  forget ; 

Where  are  the  laughing  hours  we  told, 

Ere  hopes  were  crushed;  and  hearts  were  cold  ? 

°Tis  nothing  now  ;  'twas  nothing  then — 

Yet  memory  pictures  once  again 

That  dream ;  how  could  it  seem  to  me 

So  very  like  reality  ? 

'Twas  that  young  fancy  oft  had  thrown, 

(When  midnight  made  each  thought  her  own  ;) 


84  TASSO. 

Some  light,  all  heavenly,  softly  warm. 
Upon  a  nameless  shadowed  form  ; 
'Twas  that  young  fancy  oft  had  sought. 
The  nameless  being  of  her  thought ; 
Till  every  dream  of  purity 
Was  realized  at  once  in  thee  ! 

We  met,  and  said  farewell ; 

And  parted,  not  to  meet  again  : 
Why  of  the  weary  past  to  tell  ? 

Pride,  love,  regret,  remorse,  are  vain. 
Perchance  they  all  have  been,  and  love, 
Love  lingers  yet  the  wreck  above  : 
And  yet  from  earth's  cold  joylessness 
Thought  flings  to  thee  its  wild  caress. 
We  knelt  before  the  rosy  shrine, 

Where  pleasure  rears  her  bower  ; 
The  carol  of  the  heart  was  mine, 

And  thine  her  fairest  flower  ; 
What  though  an  asp  was  lurking  there 

To  sting  the  heart  that  held  too  dear  : 
Perchance  there's  slumber  in  despair, 

Since  nought  beyond  is  left  for  fear. 

So  sleep  the  day-dreams  of  the  heart. 

Nor  recks  it,  in  a  world  like  this  ; 
An  hour  will  bid  alike  depart, 

Blessing,  and  curse;  bliss,  wretchedness 
Still  may  the  world  for  thee  be  bright 
As  summer's  day  of  song  and  light ; 
While  I  from  earth's  cold  joylessness 
Fling  yet  to  thee  one  wild  caress  ! 


85 


&8FANA  !  there  were  songs  of  glee, 

And  laughing  hearts,  and  homes  for  thee  ; 

Then  the  wild  war-cry,  fierce  and  dread, 

From  river  slope  to  mountain  head, 

Burst  like  the  wailing  thunder  storm. 

And  desolation  swept  thy  form. 

The  rustic  left  the  loaded  vine, 

The  holy  man  'has  fled  the  shrine  ; 

For  lo !  the  eagle  pants  for  fame, 

And  shout,  and  shriek,  with  Gallia's  name, 

Is  wafted  through  the  sulphury  sky, 

That  canopies  one  crimson  dye. 

Oh,  why  the  sable  clouds  of  war, 

To  hide  from  heaven's  golden  star  ; 

Why,  but  to  roll  away  and  leave 

New  eyes  to  weep,  new  souls  to  grieve  ; 

Fetters  for  him  in  freedom  nursed, 

And  woman's  heart  to  bleed  and  burst ! 

There  was  a  hurried  step,  a  sigh, 
A  tear-drop  in  the  dark  bright  eye  ; 
On  loved  and  lost  her  glances  fell. 
And  thus  the  maiden  breathed  farewell : 
-<  Back  to  the  earth,  my  summer  flowers; 

That  gave  your  beauty  birth, 
Ve  shall  not  wreathe  the  stranger's  bowers'- 

Back,  to  the  dark  cold  eaiih  f. 


$6  THE     FAREWELL. 

Ye  sprang  when  all  was  bright  and  gay  v 
' .  Ye  laughed  in  summer's  golden  ray  ; 
Ye  breathed  along  your  honeyed  sigh 
To  every  breeze  that  whispered  by  ; 
But  now,  I  scatter  to  the  air 
The  young,  and  beautiful,  and  fair ; 
Go,  upon  earth's  cold  breast  recline, 
Ye  shall  not  deck  the  stranger's  shrine. 

Ye  could  not  bloom,  my  summer  flowers, 
;-i     When  I  for  aye  had  passed  ; 
The  breai.h  that  warmed  in  other  hours, 

A  mildew  blight  would  cast  : 
Through  storm  and  sunshine  grew  the  spell. 
It  ends  at  last  in  this  farewell ! 
Farewell !   I  fling  ye  to  the  wind, 
To  leave  nor  trace,  nor  tale  behind  ; 
A  word,  a  sigh,  each,  every  one, 
And  then  ye  sleep,  and  1  am  gone  ; 
Sleep,  with  the  infant  of  a  day, 
That  smiled,  and  sighed,  and  passed  away: 
Sleep,  with  the  heart  whose  bridal  morn, 
Was  darken'd  by  the  traitor's  scorn ; 
Sleep,  with  the  wreaths  that  fancy  wove, 
Sleep,  with  the  first  young  dream  of  love  ; 
Sleep,  where  the  pure  and  fair  recline, 
Rather  than  deck  a  stranger's  shrine. 


87 


A   TURKISH    ODE,   OF   MESIHI.* 

HARK  !  from  her  rosy  shrine 
i  hear  the  Bulbul  pour  her  melting  note, 
And  where  the  almond  boughs  their  blossoms  twine, 

Wild  voices  float. 

Gather,  oh  man,  the  music  of  thy  heart, 
Too  soon  will  life's  young  loveliness  depart, 

The  grove,  the  hill, 

The  bright  Sultana  of  the  garden  bowers, 
And  bending  there  to  kiss  the  crystal  rill — 

Wild  forest  flowers ; 

Their  bloom  may  gladden  o'er  thy  cold  decline. 
Laugh,  in  a  loveliness  less  frail  than  thine. 

A  dew-drop,  bright 
As  sunlight  flashing  o'er  the  scimitar, 
Sleeps  on  the  balmy  breast  of  lily  light, 

A  mimic  star — 

Gatch  the  pure  night-gem  ere  it  melts  away, 
Too  soon  will  life's  young  loveliness  decay. 

And  from  the  rose, 

Bright  as  on  maiden's  cheek  the  crimson  bloom, 
And  from  the  love  that  in  its  freshness  flows 

But  to  the  tomb  ! 

*  Paraphrased  from  a  prose  translation  by  Sir  W.  Jones. 


38  SPRING. 

Gather,  oh,  gather  to  thy  soul  the  glee, 
Ere  its  cold  nothingness  is  breathed  to  thee. 

Now  like  the  lance 

That  drinks  the  life-blood  from  the  foeraan's  hearts, 
O'er  wood  and  vale,  the  burning  sunbeams  glance. 

Andflowrets  start. 

Quick,  to  the  noontide's  golden  sorcery, 
Laugh,  for  their  loveliness  but  fades  from  thee. 

And  now,  no  more 

The  grove  is  gathered  in  its  icy  gloom. 
Spring  breezes  wake  along  the  balmy  shore, 

And  pierce  the  tomb. 

Soft  in  each  passioned  breath  young  Houris  sigh. 
Sip  the  deep  murmur  ere  its  odours  die. 

And  when  the  gay 

Fling  to  the  golden  dome  the  shout  again, 
When  merry  wine- cups  steal  the  soul  away, 

Oh,  turn  thee  then  ; 

Turn,  to  the  bright  spring  of  thy  spirit's  faith. 
Soon  life's  young  loveliness  is  cold  in  death. 

Heard  ye  the  war, 

When  winter  flung  his  terrors  to  the  strife  ? 
Then  came  a  mighty  monarch  from  afar, 

His  step  was  life  ; 

He  robed  the  red  rose  in  its  matin  mirth, 
Laugh,  ere  young  loveliness  has  passed  from  earth, 


SPRING.  $9 

And  oft  this  strain, 

That  pours  its  wild  gush  from  thy  summer  bower, 
Will  wake  in  maiden's  memory  again, 

At  such  sweet  hour — 

Then  fling  the  light-winged  laughter  round  thy  heart, 
T-oo  soon  must  life's  young  loveliness  depart. 


fn  sweet  Mondego's  ever  verdant  bowers, 
Languished  away  the  slow  and  lonely  hours ; 
While  now,  as  terror  waked  thy  boding  fears, 
The  conscious  stream  received  thy  pearly  tears ; 
And  now,  as  hope  revived  thy  brighter  flame, 
Each  echo  sighed  thy  princely  lover's  name. 

Camoens. 

^  To  thee,  to  thee  once  more  I  turn,  thou  light  of  other 

days, 
The  meteor  that  lured  me  oa  with  bright  but  fleeting 

rays; 
Oh,  rather  fire,  all  burning,  blighting,  maddening  my 

brain, 
And  lingering  in  memory  to  sweep  the  waste  again. 

For  I  have  loved  thee  in  the  flow  and  brilliancy  of  song, 
I  loved  thee  when  the  tide  of  life  swept  swift  and  smooth 

along ; 
I  loved  thee,  though  the  carol'd  joy  was  changed  by 

thee  to  wo, 
Thine  image  yet  is  on  the  wave  of  night  and  death 

below. 

Of  night  and  death!  strange  fitful  things  are  flitting 
round  the  scene, 

The  broken  loveliness  of  all  that  should  for  aye  have 
been; 

Away !  ye  come  iike  ghosts  by  night  around  the  mur 
derer's  bed, 

Why  should  the  shadows  haunt,  when  their  reality  has 
fled? 


INEZ     DE     CASTRO.  9l 

And  Reason,  like  the  lightning's  flash  upon  the  broken 

tower, 
That   points  the  wreck  of   shrine   and  hearth,  and 

beauty's  festal  bower, 
Gleams  o'er  the  dark  remains  of  proud,  and  beautiful, 

and  fair, 
Young  idols  that  have  been,  and  now,  rest  in  cold  ruin 

there. 

i  look  around,  young  eyes  are  bright,  and  hearts  are 

happiness, 

I  see  the  glow  upon  thy  cheek,  nor  shadowed,  nor  less ; 
I,  I  alone  am  sinking,  fading,  writhing  in  the  smart 
That  sweeps  a  desolating  fire,  on  brain,  on  brow,  and 

heart. 

And  thine  !  an  hour  will  come,  when  thine  will  blanch 

at  thought  of  me, 
When  midnight  goblets  sparkle  bright,  'twill  cross  thy 

revelry : 
A  thought  of  her  that  stood,  the  fairest,  proudest,  and 

that  now 
Asks  only  of  the  stormy  wave,  rest  in  its  caves  below !'- 

Note.— r-Inez  de  Castro  was  banished  from  her  royal  lover, 
Don  Pedro,  principally  by  the  machinations  of  Alfonso,  his 
father. — -Vide,  Sismondi.  ^ 


STfte  JUfftstrel's  JFavctoeU* 


AWAY,  away  !  your  voice  is  vain, 

It  wins  me  not  to  your  haunts  again  ; 

We  have  met  in  bower  and  festal  train, 

Where  was  the  light  should  have  gladden'd  me  then  r: 

Away,  away  !  ye  come  to  gaze 

On  the  faded  wreck  of  other  days  ; 

Quenched  is  the  Minstrel's  soul  of  fire, 

For  the  breath  of  the  grave  is  on  his  lyre  ; 

Feeble  and  wild  its  murmuring, 

'Tis  the  hand  of  death  that  sweeps  the  string. 

I  have  crossed  your  path,  ye  sons  of  gold, 
Your  lip  was  scorn,  and  your  brow  was  cold  j 
I  saw  the  bright  and  lovely  of  earth 
Circle  the  shrines  in  your  halls  of  mirth  : 
And  riches  from  isle  and  ocean  afar, 
Gathered  beneath  the  golden  star.* 
I  stood  alone,  unloved,  unblest, 
Where  was  a  link  for  the  minstrel's  breast  V 
Not  with  the  bright,  and  witching,  and  fair, 
Ah,  no  !  no  home  for  the  stranger  there  ; 
Then  came  a  voice  on  the  night  wind  borne, 
Then  was  a  voice  on  the  breezy  morn  ; 

*  "  The  roofs  of  many  of  the  apartments  of  the  Tavrid  palace  were  i 
rated  with  golden  stars."—  £owring, 


MINSTREL'S    FAREWELL.  9 

^  Come  !  where  we  sweep  with  pinions  free 

O'er  the  wide  fields  of  fertility, 

That  lie  beneath  the  noontide  ray, 

Basking  the  dream  of  being  away  ; 

Come,  to  the  spirit  of  the  wood, 

Chained  in  its  cypress  solitude ; 

Come,  where  the  ocean  wave,  fiercely  driven, 

Meets  the  red  bolt  ere  launched  from  its  Heaven. J> 

I  have  read  the  lesson  that  nature  weaves, 

[n  the  bud  and  blight  of  the  forest  leaves  ; 

I  have  met  the  form  that  rides  on  the  storm, 

And  linked  with  the  pine-tree  that  lightnings  deform  ; 

Paused  at  the  rush  and  roar  of  old  ocean, 

Hung  on  the  rocks  in  the  tempest's  commotion ; 

And  my  heart  was  warm,  and  my  spirit  bright, 

As  it  claimed  communion  with  worlds  of  light 

I  swept  the  lyre  to  a  mirthful  tone, 
And  woke  the  fire  of  days  by-gone, 
Till  the  cheek  of  man  wore  a  ruddier  flash, 
And  a  tear-drop  hung  on  the  silken  lash. 
Lone  amid  all  was  the  minstrel's  breast,. 
Where  could  his  wearied  spirit  rest  ? 
For  love  and  passion  I  lit  the  warm  ray, 
While  the  tide  of  my  being  rolled  darkly  away, 

I  go,  I  go  to  a  kinder  sphere, 
Far  from  the  changes  that  circle  us  here  ; 
I  go  where  the  things  that  I  've  dreamt  of  lie, 
To  a  cloudless  home  in  the  bright  blue  sky. 


!)4  LELA. 

Away,  away  !  I  scorn  the  call 

That  bids  me  back  to  your  festal  hall ; 

My  hand  is  weak  on  the  quivering  string, 

For  the  minstrel's  spirit  hath  spread  its  wing  ; 

And  its  visions  are  bright,  and  its  pinions  freer 

As  it  rushes  in  light  to  Eternity. 


UJSCE  more  the  red  falchion  of  battle  repose* 

In  slumber  awhile  on  its  pillow  of  roses ; 

I  '11  seek  in  its  brightness  the  home  of  my  youth, 

And  warmly  1  '11  clasp  ye,  affection  and  truth. 

The  bright  wreath  of  glory  they  're  twining  for  me. 

Ah  Lela,  dear  Lela,  I  sought  it  for  thee  ; 

Thy  heart  in  its  truth,  and  its  best  love  was  given. 

And  well  have  I  kept  it,  thou  phantom  of  heaven. 

He  came,  but  in  darkness  the  bright  eye  was  sleeping. 
And  o'er  the  cold  grave-stone  was  silence  and  weeping 
He  sought  the  loved  bower,  'twas  silent  and  lone, 
And  the  withered  rose  whispered,  "  Our  Lela  is  gone !'' 
He  spoke  not  of  hopes  that  his  bosom  had  cherished. 
One  tear-drop  alone  told  that  all,  all  had  perished ; 
And  bright  is  the  drop  by  the  mrnly  one  shed, 
Where  the  maid  of  his  bosom  lies  mouldering  and  dead 


LELA.  9& 

Still  warm  are  the  sunbeams  on  each  hallowed  spot, 

Yet  why  should  he  linger  where  Lela  is  not  ? 

To  the  world,  to  the  world,  though  its  breathings  arr 

vain, 

To  gladden  or  sorrow  that  spirit  again  ; 
The  green  leaf  of  glory  he  tore  from  his  brow, 
No  Lela  was  near  him  to  smile  on  it  now  ; 
And  the  soft  song  of  beauty  but  whispered  too  well, 
More  sweet  were  the  accents  from  Lela  that  fell. 

Oh  the  heart,  'tis  a  kind  gift  in  life's  brightest  bloom, 
But  more  sacred  and  deep  when  it  rests  on  the  tomb  , 
And  still  be  each  garland  that  circles  that  shrine, 
Undying,  unchanging,  as,  Lela,  was  thine ! 
Through  wanderings  unnumbered  thou  wert  not  forgot, 
Nor  e'er  has  he  slumbered,  to  dream  of  thee  not ; 
They  have  hallowed  his  cold  grave  beyond  the  blue  sea, 
•But  Lela,  ah  !  Lela,  his  heart  is  with  thee. 


Ha 

"  La  Verna  (the  convent)  has  a  most  curious  appearance 
from  whatever  point  it  is  viewed.  Imagine  a  barren  mountain, 
crowned  with  a  circle  of  rocks  ;  for  the  greater  part  rising  per 
pendicularly,  and  to  the  height,  in  some  instances,  of  two  or 
three  hundred  feet.  Books  tell  of  double  that  height.  It  would 
bear  a  resemblance  to  the  ruins  of  a  gigantic  castle,  were  it  not 
that  the  tongue  of  land  (as  the  Italians  call  it)  upon  the  rocks 
is  covered  with  a  thick  and  lofty  wood.  The  friars  told  us  that 
the  place  was  formed  by  the  earthquake  at  the  moment  of  the 
crucifixion," — Letters  from  Vallombrosa,  Camaldoli,  and  La 
Vtrna. 

I. 

AVE  MARIA  !  on  the  spirit's  wing 

At  the  dim  midnight  hour  we  fly  to  thee. 
Hark !  where  the  altar  vigil  wakes  the  string, 

Oh  Mother,  hear  us  !   Benedicite  ! 
Ave  Maria  !  o'er  the  spirit's  bloom, 

Fling  pure  and  beautiful  thy  radiancy  ; 
Hark  !  where  the  death  dirge  whispers  of  the  tombr 

Oh  Mother,  hear  us  !  Benedicite  ! 

11. 

The  chant  was  hushed,  the  lights  were  gone*, 
The  dying  rested  there  alone  ; 
Upon  her  couch  in  silence  laid, 
Around  the  deep  sepulchral  shade* 


LA.     V  E  R  N  A. 

Half  robed  the  fearful  phantasy, 

Spirit  born  in  reality. 

There  was  no  sorrow  on  the  air, 

No  passion  hovered  breathless  there 

To  sooth  the  sigh,  to  wipe  the  tear, 

To  chase  the  agony  or  fear, 

That  shroud  our  spirits  as  we  go 

Tremblingly  from  this  vale  of  wo. 

There  she  lay,  the  lonely  one, 

(The  smiles,  the  sighs  of  being  done  ;.) 

In  that  dim  vigil  hour  to  trace 

Each  passion  to  its  resting-place  ; 

To  thread  again  the  faded  track, 

And  fling  thy  mantle,  memory,  back  , 

And  summon  from  its  shadowy  sphere 

Each  dream  by-gone  ;  the  distant,  dear, 

The  joy  long  trodden,  half  forgot ; 

The  wo  that  wanes  not,  slumbers  not ; 

The  hope  that  lured  through  shine  and  shade. 

Then  left  benighted,  and  betrayed  ; 

To  bid  the  weary  waste  of  years, 

Mingle  their  loves,  and  hates,  and  fears  ; 

And  sullen  shades,  and  lights  intense, 

T-he  rushing  tide  of  soul  and  sense  ; 
That  onward  sweeping  still  through  weal  and  wo* 
Bears  restlessly  along  the  barque  of  life  below. 

in. 

The  pearly  moonbeam  lights  the  sky. 
Oh,  'tis  an  hour  too  bright  to  die  1 
9 


98  LA    VERNA. 

And  save  for  him  that  oft  has  seen 
Such  breathless  beauty  warm  the  scene  ; 
Then  marked  the  storm-cloud  fiercely  driven. 
Sweep  o'er  the  azure  arch  of  heaven  ; 
And  whirling,  wild,  the  fearless  wind, 
Leave  not  a  tint  of  grace  behind — 
Might  seem  that  midnight's  holy  noon 
Too  beautiful  to  break  so  soon. 

IV. 

Oh  who  has  not ;  while  drowsiness 
From  slumber  wooed  a  dull  caress, 
Stood  'neath  the  light  of  yonder  beam, 
(Too  bright  to  gild  a  sleeper's  dream) 
And  hailed  it,  as  the  green  spot  on 

The  dull  Sahara  of  his  life  ; 
That  comes  when  all  he  loved  is  gone, 

With  many  a  loved  remembrance  rife  ; 
And  flying  back  to  childhood's  day, 

And  dreaming  o'er  the  dream  of  youth. 
Trod  once  again  the  rosy  way, 

Where  sleep  the  forms  of  love  and  truth 
How  lone  the  deep,  half  smothered  sigh. 
As  the  bright  vision  passes  by  ! 

v. 

Beneath  the  sable  canopy, 

Its  waving  folds  half  flung  aside, 

To  catch  the  night-wind's  fragrancy, 

As  soft  it  swept  the  mountain's  side  ; 


LA    VERNA.  99 

Thus  in  that  midnight  hour  she  lay : 

Each  snowy  lid  in  silenee  pressed 
O'er  the  dark  eye  whose  flashing  ray 
Just  glanced  upon  life's  weary  way, 

Then  left  it,  doubly  cursed  or  blessed  ! 
So  still,  and  pale,  and  beautiful, 

Even  as  the  visioned  phantasy 
Crossing  the  weary  heart  to  cull 

A  poppy  wreath  for  memory. 
And  yet,  perchance  that  cheek  and  brow. 
Had  been  more  beautiful  than  now  ; 
For  vigil  long,  and  midnight  prayer, 
And  hours  of  solitude  and  care, 
And  the  stern  penance,  day  by  day, 
Will  steal  the  rose's  bloom  away ; 
And  see  !  beneath  that  lone  repose, 
Life  trembles  to  its  fitful  close  ! 

vi. 

And  there  the  holy  man  has  come 
To  shrive  the  spirit  for  its  home  ; 
And  now  with  meek  and  bending  head. 
He  stands  beside  the  burial  bed, 

Like  some  high  holy  star 
That  lives  when  other  lights  are  o'er 

Above  the  death-gloom  beaming  far. 
The  promise  of  a  happier  shore. 
She  had  been  with  them  ;  yet  was  thrown 
A  spell  around  her  all  alone  ; 
The  eye  at  times  that  flashed  in  light. 
More  than  devotion's  fervor  bright ; 


I'OO  LA     TERN  A. 

When  wandering  in  wildness  round, 

From  dome  to  dome,  its  glance  was  givers 
As  if  to  escape  the  narrow  bound 

Which  hid  from  all  but  peace  and  heaven. 
Prompt  to  obey  the  signal  note 

That  broke  upon  the  unruffled  air, 
When  as  the  first  bright  day-beams  float. 

They  met  to  mingle  praises  there ; 
Yet  lingering  at  the  vesper  bell, 
Which  bade  them  all  to  lonely  cell ; 
The  secret  tear,  averted  look, 
And  then  the  hollow  groan  which  shook  : 
As  yester-eve  they  found  her  laid 
Cold,  senseless,  by  the  altar  shade  ; 
At  last  the  mighty  strife  is  o'er, 
Save  in  the  prior's  breast  to  pour 
The  deeds  so  darkly  veiled  before, 

i 

VII. 

"  Father !  the  tale  is  long  ;  and  now 
ft  little  recks,  or  where,  or  how  ; 
Enough  that  hours  by  hours  rolled  on, 
In  all  of  brightness  wooed  and  won ; 
Each  golden  link  that  fancy  wrought, 
The  morrow  in  its  beauty  brought ; 
Enough,  I  trod  the  spell-bound  bower,. 
And  lightly  wore  its  charmed  flower  ; 
And  drank  the  strange  empassioned  bliss. 
And  blushed  young  beauty  to  a  kiss  ; 
I  saw  that  flower,  in  slow  decay, 
Upoa  my  bosom  fade  away  ! 


LA    VERNA. 

And  oh,  thy  blackest  boon,  despair, 
Crushed  by  the  hand  that  placed  it  there  1 
1  woke  all  bleeding,  wrung  to  know 

The  balmy  air  upon  my  brow", 
That  softly  yet  did  roses  glow, 

Yet  all  to  me  ;  'tis  nothing  now  ! 
Broken,  forsaken,  day  by  day, 
How  wore  the  heart's  young  bloom  away  ; 
The  blight  that  comes  on  being's  spring, 
Balmless,  and  deep,  and  withering. 

VIII. 

Oh,  colder  than  the  wintry  blast 

From  Ararat's  eternal  snow, 
Is  the  chill  glance  of  hatred  cast 

From  soul  where  love  was  wont  to  glow. 
One  moment  did  1  meet  his  gaze, 
With  the  proud  glance  of  other  days  ; 
And  from  my  bosom  rushed  the  tide, 
Perchance  it  warmed  my  cheek  in  pride ; 
A  sudden  wrench  essayed  to  sever, 
The  links  that  should  have  clung  for  ever  ; 
They  could  not  fear  the  blight  of  Time, 
Nor  part,  for  poverty  or  crime ; 
His,  his  alone,  the  deadly  grasp 
That  could  those  fetter  links  unclasp  : 
Let  them  ;  I  cannot  feel  again, 
Nor  suffer,  as  I  suffered  then  ! 
9* 


LA    VERN-A. 


IX. 

I  shed  no  tear  ;  upon  rny  brain 

The  rushing  blood  came  hot  ; 
Then  back  recoiled  again  — 

I  know  not  what, 

But  something  from  the  heart  below, 
Still  urged  it  in  resistless  flow  ; 
Till  reason  withered  in  the  glow. 
The  drop  was  dried  that  should  have  conu 
To  woo  the  wandering  spirit  home  ; 
Tearless,  my  heated  eyeballs  felt 
As  if  a  tear  were  kind  to  melt  ; 
None  came  ;  the  agony  is  deep, 
Denied  the  luxury  to  weep  ; 
It  gnaws  and  riots  on  the  heart, 
Till  half  the  chords  of  being  part  ; 
Then  mounting  to  the  throne  of  life, 

Oh  linger  there  one  moment  more  ; 
One  moment  yet  of  deadly  strife, 

And  the  last  struggle  will  be  o'er! 
But  no  !  such  kindness  is  not  given, 
Back,  back  again  the  flood  is  driven  : 
Till  sinking,  panting,  not  to  me 
Is  it  given  to  paint  that  agony  ; 
The  spirit  broken,  blasted,  fears 

No  pang  of  death  beyond  the  last  ; 
Oh,  it  has  lived  the  lapse  of  years, 

Ere  half  its  summer  suns  are  past  ' 


LA    VERNA.  108 


X. 

Life  is  a  thing  of  many  hours, 

Of  winter  storms,  and  summer  flowers  : 

All  must  be  met ;  and  cursed  or  blessed. 

Not  for  humanity  to  rest ; 

Revolving  suns  still  find  us  here, 

Plodding  along  the  self-same  track  ; 
Now  leaving  all  the  heart  holds  dear, 

Now  from  the  storm  to  sunshine  back 
On,  on  we  go  in  even  course, 
Still  urged  by  one  resistless  force  ; 
All  powerless  to  speed  the  wing 
Of  Time,  or  win  its  lingering, 

XI. 

O'er  rny  wo- worn  trembling  flame, 
Fever,  burning,  wasting  came ; 
Earth  and  sky  around  me  reeling, 
Stole  awhile  the  sense  of  feeling  ; 
Days  and  days  flew  like  the  wind, 
Days  and  nights,  nor  left  behind 
A  trace  upon  the  palsied  mind. 
The  breath  I  drew  was  laboured  ; 

I  felt  as  if  the  very  air, 

With  all  its  deadly  withering  there, 
Had  from  the  sullen  desert  sped  ; 
Heavily  resting  on  each  sense, 
Heated,  parching,  and  intense  ; 
Memory  brought  no  past  for  me. 
Nothing  now  futurity ! 
Thought  forgot  its  wonted  track,. 
All  was  giddy,  whirling  black ; 


104  LA    VERNA. 

As  the  throbbing  pulses  play. 

Of  him  that  trembles  on  the  rack ; 
Wo !  that  he  should  live  to  say. 
What  the  horrors  of  that  day. 

Round  my  rest  were  forms  and  faces. 

All  that  fickle  fancy  traces  ; 

And  mid  all,  my  heart  could  tell 

Him  that  it  had  loved  so  well. 

XII. 

That  tumult ;  it  could  not  last  long. 
Life  had  else  escaped  from  wrong  ; 
But,  though  short,  enough  to  know 
All  the  wilderness  of  wo  ; 
All  the  agonies  that  throw 
Ruin  on  the  heart  below. 
Slowly  did  my  spirit  break 
Its  thrall,  and  once  again  awake  ; 
Wake  to  sickness,  suffering,  wrong, 
To  days  of  solitude  ;  and  long, 
Long  anxious  nights  of  loneliness  ; 
With  none  to  gladden,  none  to  bless  : 
To  know  that  all  to  which  it  knelt, 
And  all  for  which  it  deeply  felt, 
And  all  that  once  had  power  to  bless. 
Had  passed  to  very  nothingness. 
I  turned  in  very  loathing  from 
The  visioned  moments  yet  to  come  ; 
And  all  thy  page,  futurity, 
Was  one  vast  midnight  blank  to  me — 


LA    VERNA.  105 


I  turned  ;  yet  fain  to  rest  upon 
The  cold  breast  of  oblivion. 

XIII. 

Oh,  think  not,  father,  pangs  like  these 

Can  pierce  the  bosom  to  its  core  ; 
Then  pass  off  to  forgetfulness, 

And  all  be  lovely  as  before. 
The  heart !  if  ever  there  the  blast 
Of  desolating  grief  has  passed ; 
If  only  once  the  bitter  spring 

Of  love  deceived,  is  quaffed  ; 
Consuming,  wasting,  withering, 

There  is  no  Lethe  for  the  draught, 
An  idle  smile  an  hour  may  bless, 
A  passing  pleasure  win  caress  ; 
Lovely  and  dear  the  wreath  they  twine> 
But  ah  !  around  a  broken  shrine. 

XIV. 

My  life  has  been  one  fevered  sweep 

Of  passion  o'er  my  soul ; 
While  phantoms  in  that  sullen  keep, 
Uproused  them  from  their  fitful  sleep* 

And  reason's  stern  control ; 
Yet  chide  me  not ;  the  wildest  wave 
Finds  in  the  ocean  depths  a  grave, 

Perchance  it  sought  before  ; 
And  Time  as  fierce  a  flood  will  see 
Slumber  in  voiceless  apathy ; 

Peace  to  the  torrent  o'er  ! 


106  LA    YERNA. 

I  look  upon  the  days  gone  by, 

And  thought  is  weariness  ; 
They  brought  for  me  nor  smile  nor  sigh. 
But  one  intensest  agony 

Hath  stolen  their  power  to  bless  : 
For  aye  was  phrensy  in  the  dream, 
For  ever  burning  in  the  beam ! 

xv. 

Father,  we  parted  !  he,  to  wrong 
The  heart  that  lored  so  well,  so  long  : 
And  I,  in  holy  shades  to  rear 
A  pang  ;  at  last  it  triumphs  here. 

XVI. 

'Twas  yester-eve  ;  the  cloudless  blue 

Beneath  the  sunset  blush  was  bright. 
And  daylight  with  her  golden  hue 

Yet  lingered  on  yon  rocky  height : 
*Twas  summer's  eve;  that  magic  hour 

Which  ever  has  the  spell  to  throw 
Back  on  the  heart  with  primal  power. 

All  it  has  loved,  and  left  below. 
When,  with  that  sweetness  o'er  me  cast, 
How  woke  the  memory  of  the  past ! 
Nay,  father,  chide  not ;  thoughts  and  way* 
Are  not  the  things  of  other  days  ; 
Blighted  in  every  changing  scene, 
Father,  I  am  not  what  has  been : 
The  world  is  beautiful  and  bright, 
And  its  young  visions  of  delight, 


LA     VERNA.  107 

Are  twined  around  the  youthful  heart : 

Year  after  year  its  changes  bringing, 

But  find  them  closer,  closer  clinging  : 

Still  flinging  on  futurity 

A  life  and  brightness  not  to  be  ; 

Year  after  year — year  after  year 

They  threw  for  me  deep  shadows  here  ; 

[  saw  each  lustre  fade  away, 

And  my  cold  bosom  mocked  decay  ! 

Then  on  that  wilderness  of  feeling., 

What  strange  unreal  shapes  were  stealing  ; 

Yet  bearing  impress,  true  and  warm, 

Of  many  a  well-remembered  form  : 

In  youth,  and  truth,  and  loveliness, 

Their  shadows  lingered  in  the  heart, 
Which  their  realities  could  bless, 

And  whence  their  memories  may  ne'er  depart. 

XVII. 

And  such  did  mad  me !  from  the  crowd 

That  humbly  by  yon  altar  kneeling, 
Find  in  the  cloister's  hallowed  shroud 

A  pall  for  every  earthly  feeling, 
To  cherish  there  that  flame  divine — 

Alas !  how  often  is  the  fire 
Unfed,  forgotten,  on  the  shrine, 

Till  all  our  earthly  lights  expire. 
I  turned  in  solitude  apart, 
To  crush  the  phantoms  of  the  heart ; 
Along  the  aisle  no  sunbeams  crept, 
To  rouse  the  shades  that  long  had  slept ; 


108  LA    VERNA. 

And  one  lone  torch  from  distance  thre\v 

Upon  each  gloom  a  deeper  hue  ; 

I  knelt  before  the  altar  shade, 

Like  penance  in  her  rohes  arrayed  ; 

When  by  that  holy  mystery, 

{  savv — l  knew — oh  God !  'twas  he ! 

!  knew  him  in  that  pallid  beam, 

The  idol  of  my  early  dream  ; 

All  strangely  changed  since  last  we  met. 

Yet  never  could  my  heart  forget 

My  cherished  light ;  ah  !  did  no  cloud 

That  glowing  phantasy  enshroud  ; 

Were  all  its  bright  delusion  given, 

Who  then  would  sigh  for  yon  blue  heaven  ? 

XVIII. 

And  there  he  stood  ;  perchance  despair. 
Or  the  world's  loneliness,  or  care, 
Or  penitence  h;id  placed  him  there  ; 
He  flew  and  cl  isped  me  to  his  heart, 
"  Oh  no !"  he  cried,  u  Not  thus  we  part : 
Tell  me,  oh  tell  me,  though  there  be 
Madness  and  guilt  in  loving  thee  ; 
Oh,  tell  me,  yet  within  that  breast, 
One  lingering  thought  of  him  will  rest ; 
Who,  hope,  pride,  peace,  for  ever  flown. 
Still  kneels  to  thee,  and  thee  alone  ! 
Oh  hear  me  yet !  for  thee  and  me, 
In  brighter  lands  beyond  the  sea  ; 


LA     VERNA. 

Uiasped  to  a  heart  that  loves  thee  well, 
Where'er  we  rove — " 

jgS.:     "  Oh  never  tell!' 
I  wildly  cried  ;  "  a  tale  of  bliss, 
But  mockery  to  a  heart  like  this  ; 
Oh  never  !  I  have  bent  to  hear 
Thy  soothing  words,  even  yet  too  dear  ; 
Till  my  brain  turns  in  agony, 
That  all  is  lost  for  thee  and  me  ; 
For  what  am  I  ?  and  what  art  thou  ? 
Read  in  my  heart,  and  on  my  brow  : 
In  every  signet  of  despair, 
How  deep  the  spoiler's  impress  there  . 
And  what  is  love,  or  hope,  or  pride, 
Go — go — I  am  a  holier's  bride ! 

xrx. 

He  started  from  those  visioned  bowers. 
But  phantom  forms  of  other  hours ; 
And  once  again  each  breast  was  thrown 
To  live  or  perish,  yet  alone  ! 
He  started  up,  and  far  apart 
He  flung  me,  weeping,  from  his  heart ; 
Again  his  brow  was  clouded  o'er, 
His  eye  flashed  darker  than  before ; 
And  well  did  half  unsheathed  steel 
The  tumult  of  his  soul  reveal ; 
I  knelt ;  but  not  in  crouching  fear, 
Yes,  strike  !  I  cried,  strike  fearless  her*1  '- 
I  raised  my  eye — but  he  had  flown, 
And  I  was  kneeling  there  alone  •! 
10 


LA.    VERNA. 


XX. 

Oh  father  !  black  upon  my  brain, 
That  last  wild  pang  comes  back  again  ; 
I  saw  him,  knew  him  ;  it  is  done  ; 
Life  is  for  me  a  broken  tone  ; 
Tumultuous  passion  swept  the  wire, 
And  in  that  rush  the  chords  expire  ; 
Yet,  father,  tell  him— 

It  is  vain, 

€old  darkness  shrouds  my  thoughts  again, 
And  dizziness  is  on  my  brain  — 
And  idle  shapes  beside  me  seem, 
And  fitful  lights  around  me  gleam  ; 
Yet,  father,  tell  him—"    . 

'.  •     On  the  air, 

Pushed  forth  one  deep,  low  murmur  there 
A  stifled  sigh,  a  broken  prayer, 
And  the  immortal  flitted—  where  ? 
That  lip  has  breathed  one  hollow  sound, 
And  all  is  icy  stillness  round. 
Speed  to  the  tide  of  good  or  ill, 
That  brow  is  cold,  that  bosom  still  ; 
Reck  they  not  of  chance,  or  change, 
Hues  of  life  commingling  strange  ; 
Heedless  all  of  bliss  or  wo, 
Slumbers  she  in  peace  below  I 
Free  the  life  -tide  warmed  that  breast, 
It  has  beat  itself  to  rest  ! 
And  oft  that  holy  father's  ear, 
Has  o'er  the  death-couch  bent  to  hear 


LA    VERNA.  Ill- 


The  faltering  accents,  as  they  hung 
Feebly  on  the  palsied  tongue  ; 
Yet  never  thence  has  time  effaced 
The  lines  that  midnight  story  traced  ; 
And  oft  on  twilight's  misty  air, 
And  oft  in  lonely  vigil  prayer, 
He  starts  as  fancy  finds  her  there ! 
Oh,  never  from  his  thought  can  part 
That  story  of  a  broken  heart ! 


112 


"THEY   SAY  WHEN   YEARS.' 

THEY  say  when  years  have  chilled  my  heart,  and  crossed 

my  brow  with  snow, 
Twill  still  the  burning  stream  that  now  doth  rush  so 

wild  below  ; 

And  I  shall  love  as  others  love,  and  hate  as  others  hate. 
Vnd  meet  the  sunshine  or  the  storm,  and  curl  the  lip  at 

fate. 

And  ye  may  frown  where  now  I  kneel  in  deep  idolatry. 
And  backward  fling  the  vows  of  truth,   that  I  have 

breathed  to  thee ; 
h  will  not  shadow  then  the  brow  where  love  his  kiss 

has  sealed, 
Its  touch  upon  the  heart  below,  unfelt  or  unrevealed. 

For  earth  can  teach  to  mask  a  smile,  and  wear  a  bidden 

scorn, 
That  none  may  guess  the  bleeding  heart,  how  deep. 

how  madly  torn ; 
And  in  the   spirit's  depths  to  hush  that  strong  and 

thrilling  voice 
That  bears  me  on  to  weal  or  wo,  to  sorrow  or  rejoice 


POEMS.  113 

Rush  on,  rush  on,  thou  fathomless,  thou   deep  and 

tameless  flood, 
Thou  gush  of  passions,  hopes,  and  fears,  rush  on  to  ill  or 

good; 

Fain  would  I  woo  the  apathy,  more  icy  than  the  chain 
That  only  flings  its  fetters  o'er  the  surface  of  the  main. 

But  no ;  go  ask  the  torrent  why  it  holds  its  fierce  career, 
Ask  the  red- bolt  that  cleaves  the  sky,  what  points  its 

pathway  here ; 
Then  ask  that  chainless  tide  of  heart,  in  its  first  gush 

warm  and  free, 
What  sweeps  its  wild  and  wayward  course,  to  the  Wave 

of  Eternity. 


10* 


114 


"WE'LL  CIRCLE  THE  HARP." 

WE'LL  circle  the  harp  with  no  leaf  from  the  tree 

That  blossoms  and  fades  in  a  day  ; 
The  garland  that  hallows  our  numbers  shall  be 

From  bowers  that  bloom  far  away : 
For  bright  are  the  flowers,  and  blue  is  the  sky, 

Where  the  amber*  sea  kisses  the  grove, 
\nd  soft,  and  as  pure,  and  as  blue  is  the  eye 

Which  laughs  to  the  whisper  of  love. 

That  fragrance  is  breathing  in  memory  now, 

And  eyes  are  enkindled  as  then  ; 

And  the  light  from  that  heart,  and  the  light  from  that 
brow, 

Half  glow  into  raptures  again  : 
Oh  not  like  the  blisses  we  tremblingly  shrine, 

Whose  beauty  to-morrow  may  blight ; 
The  life  of  their  souls,  like  the  blossoms  they  twine. 

Is  one  sunny  dream  of  delight. 

Then  bring  for  the  harp-string  one  leaf  from  those 
bowers, 

And  waken  that  vision  once  more  ; 
Born  in  the  sunbeam,  and  nursed  in  the  flowers, 

'Twill  brighten  the  numbers  we  pour : 

*  The  Russian  poet,  Derzhavin,  calls  the  Caspian  the  Amber  Se». 


POEMS.  11 

For  never  the  spirit  of  music  could  wear 

The  leaf  of  our  own  chilly  zone  ; 
And  dreams  though  we  cherish,  the  roses  they  bear 

Are  plucked  in  that  Eden  alone. 


"OH  NEVER  BELIEVE,  LOVE.' 

OH  never  believe,  love,  the  music  that  floats 

So  light  from  my  harp  is  a  truant  to  thee ; 
In  the  heart  there  are  deeper  and  holier  notes 

Than  e'er  to  the  harp-string  were  uttered  by  me — 
And  like  the  wild  numbers  that  silently  lay* 

Till  morn's  magic  finger  awoke  them  to  song. 
Thy  thought  to  my  soul  is  the  life-lighting  ray, 

And  music  and  rapture  flow  swiftly  along. 

And  while  the  light  flowrets  I  carelessly  twine, 

That  fancy  has  plucked  in  her  perishing  bower, 
'Tis  only  to  cover  the  heart,  and  the  shrine, 

Where  thine  image  still  hallows  each  happier  hour. 
And  never  believe,  love,  tho'  brightness  they  fling, 

They  can  win  from  my  spirit  a  moment  of  rest ; 
H  is  only  the  touch  of  the  nightingale's  wing 

As  she  hurries  along  to  the  leaf  she  loves  best. 

*  The  Statue  of  Memnpn 


116 


to  the  Using 


FILL  to  the  brim  !  one  pledge  to  the  past, 

As  it  sinks  on  its  shadowy  bier  ; 
Fill  to  the  brim  !   'tis  the  saddest  and  last 

We  pour  to  the  grave  of  the  year  1 
Wake,  the  light  phantoms  of  beauty  that  won  us 

To  linger  awhile  in  those  bowers  ; 
And  flash  the  bright  day-beams  of  promise  upon  us. 

That  gilded  life's  earlier  hours. 

Here's  to  the  love  —  though  it  flitted  away, 

We  can  never,  no,  never  forget  ! 
Through  the  gathering  darkness  of  many  a  day, 

One  pledge  will  we  pour  to  it  yet. 
Oh,  frail  as  the  vision,  that  witching  and  tender, 

And  bright  on  the  wanderer  broke, 
When  Irem's  own  beauty  in  shadowless  splendour. 

Along  the  wild  desert  awoke.* 

Fill  to  the  brim  !  one  pledge  to  the  glow 

Of  the  heart  in  its  purity  warm  ! 
Ere  sorrow  had  sullied  the  fountain  below. 

Or  darkness  enveloped  the  form  ; 

*  Irem,  one  of  the  gardens  described  by  Mahomed;  planted,  as  the^eom 
mentators  of  the  Koran  say,  by  a  king  named  Shedad,  once  seen  by  an  Ara 
bian,  who  wandered  very  far  into  the  desert  in  search  of  a  lost  camel.    A 
garden  no  less  celebrated  (says  Sir  W.  Jones)  by  the  Asiatic  poets,  than  that  of 
he  Hesperides  by  the  Greeks. 


POEMS.  117 

Kill  to  that  life-tide  !  oh  warm  was  its  rushing 

Through  Adens  of  arrowy  light, 
And  yet  like  the  wave  in  the  wilderness  gushing. 

'Twill  gladden  the  wine-cup  to-night. 

Fill  to  the  past !  from  its  dim  distant  sphere 

Wild  voices  in  melody  come  ; 
The  strains  of  the  by-gone,  deep  echoing  here. 

We  pledge  to  their  shadowy  tomb  ; 
And  like  the  bright  orb,  that  in  sinking  flings  back 

One  gleam  o'er  the  cloud-covered  dome, 
May  the  dreams  of  the  past,  on  futurity  track 

The  hope  of  a  holier  home ! 


"FROM  ALL   THE  SUNNY  TINTS.' 

FROM  all  the  sunny  tints  that  lie 
For  fancy  veiled  in  yonder  sky ; 
From  all  the  lights  that  gaily  glow 
Where  fortune  rears  her  shrine  below  ; 
From  all  that's  bright  in  earth  and  sea, 
My  spirit  fondly  turns  to  thee. 

Though  other  hours  to  me  may  bear 
The  wreath  that  man  is  proud  to  wear. 
Though  others  pause  to  list  the  lay 
That  now  so  idly  steals  away; 
And  smiles  may  gild  the  leaves  I  twine, 
My  heart  will  only  sigh  for  thine. 


POEMS. 


I  would  not  tread  yon  azure  sky 
If  not  thy  love  might  linger  by  ; 
For  cold  would  be  the  brightest  star, 
If  from  thy  bosom  parted  far  ; 
Oh,  thou  to  me  a  star  hast  given, 
Far  brighter  than  the  orbs  of  Heaven. 

And  when  in  yon  Eternity, 

Oh,  tell  me  I  may  cling  to  thee  ; 

Only  to  thee  for  ever  !  ever, 

No  cloud  to  shade,  no  sin  to  sever  ; 

And  every  dream  of  bliss  will  be 

Bright  in  its  own  reality  ! 


119 


THE  maiden  sat  where  the  dews  of  Castaly 
Brightened  the  lily  that  lay  on  her  brow  ; 
Her  dreams  were  born  in  the  shade  of  the  myrtle-tree. 

Pure  as  the  starlight  that  gilded  its  bough  : 
Like  the  gush  of  a  stream,  like  the  zephyr's  low  moan. 
Like  the  forest  rose  blooming  in  beauty  alone  ; 
Like  any  thing  lonely,  and  lovely,  and  bright, 
That  maiden  sat  watching  the  waters  of  light. 

It  was  not  the  rush  of  the  fountain  that  started 

The  crimson  of  life  from  the  heart  to  the  cheek  ; 
While  from  her  eyes  as  the  silken  lash  parted, 

Flashed  the  deep  language  that  spirits  can  speak — 
A  fire,  half  frantic,  for  thrilling  and  wild 
Came  a  vision  that  long  had  her  fancy  beguiled  ; 
And  she  sighed  for  an  offering  fragrant  and  fair, 
To  fling  to  the  spirit-boy  fluttering  there. 

The  blossoms  are  twined  ;  not  for  Houris  above  it 
A  chaplet  more  bright,  more  enchantingly  glows  : 

Beauty  breathed  over  the,  wreath  as  she  wove  it, 
And  passion  just  deepen'd  the  tint  of  the  rose. 

The  little  god  laughed — "  What !  offer  me  flowers. 

Aha  !  ye've  been  dreaming  in  Castaly 's  bowers ; 

Oh  no,  pretty  maiden,  your  gift  is  divine, 

But  jewels,  bright  jewels,  must  circle  my  shrine." 


120 


"He* 


>    CHIEF    OF    THE    WINNEBAGOES.  —  HE    DIED    IN    HIS    PRISON    I! 
THE    SPRING    OF    1828. 

SLEEP  was  on  the  warrior's  eye, 

Stilly  lay  his  fettered  hand  ; 
And  his  spirit,  free  to  fly, 

Sought  again  his  native  land. 
Skies  were  bright,  and  breezes  came, 

Sweet  as  on  the  mountain  borne  ; 
Swept  they  o'er  his  wearied  frame, 

With  a  voice  of  things  by-gone. 
Half  his  fettered  hand  did  raise 

To  the  vision  o'er  him  smiling, 
Half  the  lights  of  other  days 

Brightened  once  again  beguiling  •; 
Why  that  spirit  beauty  broken  ? 

Why  that  shadowy  bliss  forego  ? 
Dark  reality  has  spoken, 

And  the  warrior  wakes  to  wo  ! 

w;  I  hear,  I  hear  wild  voices  flit 

b'rom  the  shadowy  halls  where  my  fathers  sit  ; 

They  link  my  name  with  a  kingly  band, 

And  bid  me  hail  to  the  spirit  land. 

f  come  at  your  bidding,  bright  shades  of  the  slain. 

That  met  ye  by  mountain,  and  forest,  and  plain  ; 

We  mingled  in  battle,  and  banquet,  and  chase, 

And  I  poured  to  your  death  dirge  the  pride  of  my  race. 


RED     BIRD.  l 

Oh,  son  of  the  eagle  !  thy  glory  is  faded, 

The  plume  of  thy  war-crest  is  sullied  and  shaded  ; 

I  feel  the  proud  burst  of  my  spirit  is  vain, 

And  the  white  craven  laughs  as  he  rivets  the  chain. 

Oh,  never  the  halo  of  ages  gone  by 

Will  return  like  yon  day-beam  to  gladden  the.  sky, 

The  soul  of  the  ';  Red  Bird"  is  cold  in  its  gloom, 

And  the  home  of  his  hope  is  the  breast  of  the  tomb 

My  eye  was  the  brightest,  my  arrow  was  true, 
And  fresh  from  the  pine-top  it  drank  the  young  dew 
Speed !  to  the  deer  through  the  dark  forest  flying, 
But  mine  was  the  step  to  its  fleetness  replying  : 
I  trod  the  wild  rock  whei*e  the  torrent  lies  buried, 
Fierce  o'er  my  pathway  the  angry  blast  hurried  5 
I  heard  in  the  thunder  the  storm-spirit's  sigh, 
And  loved  the  red  banner  he  waved  in  the  sky. 

I  fling  to  revenge  the  cold  fetter  he  gave> 
And  rush  to  the  dream  of  the  glorious  brave  I 
THe  torches  are  flashing,  and  proud  is  the  call 
That  beckons  me  far  to  their  shadowy  hall : 
In  vain  is  the  shackle  ;  1  spring  to  my  home ! 
Roll  on  the  dark  music !  I  come  !  I  come  ! 
My  fetters  are  broken,  my  spirit  is  free, 
And  shades  of  the  mighty,  I  mingle  with  ye  ! 


122 


Jranne  fc' 


SHE  lingered  where 
The  forms  of  love  and  purity  were  bright  ; 

She  caught  the  air 

Warbled  by  Beauty  in  her  bower  of  light. 
*Twas  but  an  hour  ;  then  came  a  loftier  one, 

And  bade  her  join  the  chase  for  fortune,  fame  ; 
Pointed  the  wreaths  of  honour  to  be  won, 
And  on  she  rushed,  and  won—  an  honoured  name  ! 

Years  passed  away  ; 
She  lay  reclined  in  Pleasure's  rosy  bower,, 

The  brightest  ray 

Of  Fortune  gilded  o'er  her  noontide  hour  : 
But  came  there  not  a  whisper  in  the  wind, 

And  bloomed  there  not  a  flowret  in  the  grove, 
Breathing  of  all  for  ever  left  behind  ; 
A  tale  of  earlier  hopes,  and  hearts,  and  love  ? 

Oh  yes  !  that  song, 
How  wildly  sweet  we  never  can  forget  ; 

It  steals  along 

When  the  cold  tumult  of  the  world  is  met  ; 
It  tells  of  hearts  more  gay,  and  forms  more  fair. 

Than  ever  cross  us  in  life's  wilderness  ; 
And  many  a  form  of  loveliness  is  there, 
Wooing  us  to  its  shadowy  caress  ! 


JEANNE  D'ARC.  123 

Those  notes  are  flying 
O'er  the  young  breast  while  sorrow  is  afar, 

More  softly  sighing 

Than  even  thy  fabled  music,  Chindara ! 
Oh  earth,  dull  earth,  but  one  such  strain  can  bring, 

One  fleeting  strain  to  bless  its  pathway  cold ; 
And  but  one  touch  draws  music  from  that  string,       .  < 
The  echo  of  young  hearts,  ere  life  is  old. 


124 


^OH   COME,  MY   LOVE.V 

OH  come,  my  love  ;  along  the  sea 

The  smiles  of  day  decline  ; 
But  what  is  that  to  thee  or  me. 

I  ask  but  only  thine  : 
The  water  dashes  dark,  my  love,    ',  V 

But  hearts  can  lend  a  light  ; 
Thou'lt  need  no  star-lit  arch  above 

To  guide  the  bark  to-night. 

The  sailor  turns  a  weary  eye 
When  polar  beams  depart, 
But  ah  !  when  winds  and  waves  are  high, 

No  pilot  like  a  heart ; 
'Tis  thine,  my  love  ;  thy  bark  above 

The  billow  dances  bright ; 
i  knew,  though  skies  were  ^dark,  my  love, 
Thou  couldst  not  rove  to-night. 


125 


OH  NO,  IT  NEVER  CROSSED.  MY  HEART.- 

Oh  no — it  never  crossed  my  heart 

To  think  of  thee  with  love, 
For  we  are  severed  far  apart 
As  earth  and  arch  above  ; 
And  though  in  many  a  midnight  dream 
Ye've  prompted  fancy's  brightest  theme, 
I  never  thought  that  thou  could'st  be 
More  than  that  midnight  dream  to  me. 

A  something  bright  and  beautiful 
Which  I  must  teach  me  to  forget, 

Ere  I  can  turn  to  meet  the  dull 
Realities  that  linger  yet. 

A  something  girt  with  summer  flowers, 

And  laughing  eyes  and  sunny  hours  ; 

While  I — too  well  I  know  will  be 

Not  e'en  a  midnight  dream  to  thee ! 


11* 


126 


THE   LINGERING  BEAM  OF   SUNSET  LAY. 

THE  lingering  beam  of  sunset  lay 
Upon  the  mountain's  rocky  height ; 

A  thousand  things  more  brightly  gay 

Wer6  spread  to  catch  the  parting  rayr. 

Yet.  clung  the  sinking  smile  of  day 

Where  first  was  given  its  morning  light; 

The  wave,  the  valley,  and  the  wood, 
All  vainly  wooed  that  beam  divine  ; 

For  turning  from  the  fair  and  good, 

E'en  on  that  rock's  wild  solitude 

Was  poured  its  last,  and  mellowing  flood : 
Why  not,  oh  Love,  the  lesson  thine  ? 


127 


GO,  WHERE   ROSY  LINKS  ARE   TWINING, 

Go,  where  rosy  links  are  twining, 
Go,  where  jewels  bright  are  shining  ; 
Deeper  is  a  sorcery 
In  the  chains  I  fling  o'er  thee. 

When  fancy  wakes  her  witching  strain, 

I'll  meet  thee  in  her  bright  domain  ; 

And  midnight  dream,  and  lonely  hour, 

I'll  fetter  with  a  Sybil's  power  ! 

Go,  where  beauty's  eyes  are  brightest, 

Go,  where  youthful  hearts  beat  lightest ; 

Yet  shall  thine,  amid  them  all, 

Own  it  wears  a  viewless  thrall. 
For  rosy  links  with  summer  part, 
A  deeper  spell  must  bind  the  heart ; 
And  here  around  thy  thoughts  I  twine 
The  spirit  chain  that  makes  thee  mina? 


P  O  E  MS. 


BY 


JAMES   G.    BROOKS. 

.  •  - 


[Some  of  the  minor  pieces  in  the  following  collection,  were  published 
some  years  ago,  under  the  signature  of  FLORIO.] 


NEW-YORK: 

PRINTED  BY  J.  &  J.  HARPER, 

1829, 


GJSffllTS. 


NOT  in  the  crowded  haunts  of  busy  life, 
Not  in  the  lists  of  vain  and  worldly  strife, 
Not  in  the  bowers  of  pleasure  or  desire, 
Doth  Genius  find  his  nurture  or  his  fire. 
The  silent  mountain — the  untrodden  wood, 
The  ocean's  shore — the  valley's  solitude, 
The  waveless  lake — the  softly  winding  rill5 
The  swelling  river — the  aspiring  hill, 
The  frowning  precipice — the  mighty  shock 
Of  the  wild  waterfall — the  cloven  rock  ; 
In  these  doth  youthful  Genius  seek  delight ; 
For  these  are  nature's  loveliness  and  might. 
But  nurtured  thus,  young  Genius  must  be  hurled 
Amidst  the  toils,  the  struggles  of  the  world, 
To  win  his  way  to  honour  and  renown, 
To  wreath  around  his  brow  the  laurel  crown; 
To  pant — to  strive — to  merit  and  to  claim 
From  mortal  memory  immortal  fame  : 
To  write,  where  glory's  column  cleaves  the  sky. 
His  name  in  letters  which  shall  never  die  ; 
But  there  remain  in  characters  sublime, 
Untouched  by  ruin — unobscured  by  time. 

He  wields  the  powers  of  his  high-gifted  mind, 
And  springs  to  exaltation  o'er  mankind  ; 
Aspiring  pride  doth  reach  its  lofty  aim, 
And  Genius  stands  upon  the  mount  of  Fame  I 
12 


134  GENIUS, 

The  sunlight  lingers  with  unwonted  glow, 
Proud  to  repose  upon  that  haughty  brow 
Where  feelings  kindle,  and  where  passions  shine. 
In  light  imparted  from  the  Eternal's  shrine. 
Alas !  enthron'd  in  icy  solitude, 
Though  pure  the  light,  the  winds  are  cold  and  rude. 
Look  on  that  brow — look  if  thou  can'st  descry 
The  joys  that  ought  to  sparkle  in  that  eye  ! 
Doth  peace  commingle  with  the  sunlight  there  ? 
Ah  no ! — that  brow  is  stern  and  pale  with  care  ; 
There  hath  the  ploughshare  of  regret  been  driven. 
And  there  the  thunder -bolt  of  pain  hath  riven  : 
That  eye  hath  looked  abroad  upon  mankind, 
To  seek  what  Genius  vainly  strives  to  find  ; 
To  seek  in  man  the  stamp  he  bore  at  first, 
Fresh  from  his  God,  ere  by  his  God  accursed ; 
To  seek  for  man,  such  as  he  was  ere  driven 
From  bliss  on  earth,  and  confidence  in  heaven. 
Well  may  that  brow  be  pale,  and  sad  that  eye  ; 
The  heart  is  chill'd  by  stern  reality  ; 
And  storms  have  beat  against  that  bosom  bare 
So  fierce,  that  even  Envy's  dart  might  spare 
A  breast,  where  Grief  hath  found  a  constant  prey 
On  which  to  feast  and  batten,  day  by  day. 

Ill-fated  Genius ! — must  this  doom  be  thine  ? 
Must  thy  proud  heart  be  sorrow's  gloomy  shrine  ? 
Can  earth  hold  no  companionship  with  thee, 
Thou  sacred  image  of  the  Deity  ? 
No — all  in  vain  thou  seekest  to  impart 
Thine  own  high  passions  to  the  human  heart : 


GENIUS.  135 

In  vain  for  thee  doth  beauty  in  her  bower 

Pour  the  sweet  song,  or  cull  the  rosy  flower ; 

The  tender  light  of  her  voluptuous  eye, 

Her  winning  smile  and  more  beguiling  sigh, 

Her  glance  of  love — her  tongue's  rich  melody, 

How  sweet  are  these — but  these  are  not  for  thee  I 

For  thee,  thou  solitary  child  of  pride, 

There  is  a  loftier,  but  a  colder  bride ; — 

Fame  bids  thy  breast  its  thoughts  of  love  forego, 

And  interchains  thee  in  her  arms  of  snow. 

Alas !  for  thee — all  vainly  dost  thou  rove 

Through  the  wide  world  for  friendship  and  for  love ; 

Search  not  man's  heart — it  may  have  sympathy, 

But  not  for  thee — thou  lone  one — not  for  thee. 

Incapable  of  thy  exalted  fires, 

He  sees  their  light,  and  hates  while  he  admires  ; 

Bends  to  thy  worth,  yet  dreads  thee,  and  his  curse 

Rests  on  thy  life,  and  lingers  on  thy  hearse !. 

Oh !  who  would  covet  to  participate 

The  melancholy  glory  of  thy  fate  ; 

Admired — yet  hated  ;  envied — yet  approved  ; 

Honoured — yet  feared  ;  worshipped — yet  unbeloved  ! 

Yes,  Genius — though  thine  be  a  path  of  light, 
'T  is  like  the  planet's  through  the  gloom  of  night ; 
Bright  in  thyself,  though  all  around  be  dark, 
A  cynosure  to  being's  wandering  bark. 
And  though  thy  heart  benign  and  ample  mind 
Unite  to  bless  and  dignify  mankind, 
Man — thankless  man — acts  but  the  viper's  part, 
And  stings  his  benefactor  to  the  heart. 


13ft  GENIUS. 

Be  with  me  now,  fair  spirit,  while  I  scan 
That  mighty  mystery,  the  heart  of  man  : 
Man — God-like  man,  in  whose  exalted  breast 
The  image  of  his  Maker  is  impress'd — 
Man,  demon  man,  in  whose  wild  bosom  swell 
The  raging  and  consuming  fires  of  hell — 
Man,  form'd  to  scatter  blessings  on  his  path, 
Or  ruin,  in  his  dreadful  hour  of  wrath — 
Man,  proud  and  lofty  in  his  sense  of  worth  ; 
Man,  base  and  mean,  and  grovelling  on  the  earth  : 
Man,  good  and  great,  magnanimous  and  brave  ;.. 
Man,  craven  man,  the  parasite  and  slave  ; 
A.  marvel  and  a  mystery — thou  dost  rise 
To  high  connexion  with  the  eternal  skies ! 
Thou  dost  forsake  thy  hope,  thy  faith,  thy  God, 
To  claim  a  kindred  with  the  senseless  clod  ! 
Man,  fallen  man  !  how  madly  dost  thou  mar 
God's  fair  creation  with  the  scythe  of  war ; 
Bathing  in  gore  the  lily  of  the  plain, 
And  purpling  the  blue  billows  of  the  main ! 
How  doth  thy  heart  love  the  unholy  strife 
Of  battle-fields,  where  life  contends  with  life, 
Where  the  sharp  sword  and  pointed  bayonet 
Flash  o'er  the  field  where  mortal  foes  are  met, 
Where  earth  drinks  blood  and  trembles  at  the  dir* 
Of  the  rude  gun  and  ruder  culverin. 
And  this  is  glory  !  this  the  shining  meed 
For  which  humanity  must  ever  bleed ! 
Ah,  mad  Ambition !  little  dost  thou  care, 
Tor  the  wild  curse  of  sorrow  and  despair — 


GENIUS*  137 

Ah,  mad  Ambition  !  little  dost  thou  prize 
The  Mother's  wailings  and  the  Father's  sighs  : — 
Through  desolation  thou  must  foree  thy  way, 
Through  pain  and  travail,  havoc  and  dismay ; 
The  height  is  fair  before  thee,  and  thy  cry 
Is  "onward — gain  that  mountain  height  or  die." 
Behold  that  proud  majestical  array  ; 
How  their  crests  glitter  in  the  glare  of  day ! 
The  stirring  trumpet  rings  its  martial  peal, 
As  onward  march  those  daring  sons  of  steel — 
They  march — to  what  ?  a  vain  and  bloody  fame. 
To  the  red  honours  of  the  warrior's  name. 
Look,  once  again,  at  night's  deserted  noon, 
See  those  cold  corses  'neath  the  lonely  moon — 
Why  are  they  there  ?  because  they  madly  bled. 
To  place  the  crown  upon  Ambition's  head. 
The  fight  is  o'er, — the  stubborn  strife  is  done ; 
The  battle  hath  been  fought  and  bravely  won. 
The  Victor  comes — prepare  the  triumph  now  : 
See  how  the  laurels  freshen  on  his  brow  ! 
How  prance  the  fiery  coursers  of  his  car, 
What  plaudits  greet  the  son  of  strife  and  war ! 
All-righteous  Heaven  !  hath  not  thy  mandate  cursed 
The  laurel  wreath  by  blood  and  ruin  nursed  ? 
Rolled  not  thy  malison  o'er  ruthless  Cain, 
When  earth  beheld  his  righteous  brother  slain — 
When  murder  first  polluted  Eden's  bowers, 
And  stained  with  blood  the  freshness  of  its  flowers — 
Didst  thou  not  damn  his  rash  assassin  blow, 
And  set  the  mark  on  his  detested  brow  ? — 
12* 


Then  wherefore  hath  thy  thunder  slept  so  hong, 
While  fierce  oppression  and  remorseless  wrong 
Have  wrought  their  will  on  this  devoted  earth, 
And  marred  it  ever  since  Creation's  birth  ? 

Turn  from  this  view  of  crime  and  misery  : 
imagination !  let  us  turn  to  thee. 
Mysterious  power!  whose  silvery  tongue  can  tell 
What  countless  myriads  in  creation  dwell ; 
Whose  rushing  wing  can  waft  the  buoyant  mind 
With  fleetness  that  outstrips  the  restless  wind, 
To  the  bright  home  of  each  eternal  star, 
Which  pours  its  radiance  on  us  from  afar  ; 
Thou  who  can'st  charm  life's  dull  reality, 
Oh  what  were  man  if  destitute  of  thee ! 
'T  is  thine  to  bear  him  back  to  days  gone  by, 
And  raise  the  ghost  of  ages  to  his  eye, — 
The  grand,  the  good,  the  beautiful  of  yore, 
All  that  has  been  of  old  and  is  no  more ! 
Thou  bid'st  his  heart  with  love  of  freedom  swell. 
And  show'st  him  how  the  Spartan  Lion  fell — 
Thou  bid'st  him  hear  a  nation's  heavy  groan, 
When  the  high  Roman  crossed  the  Rubicon, 
And  sternly  led  his  parricidal  ranks 
Across  that  deathless  stream's  forbidden  banks — 
Thou  lead'st  his  footsteps  to  Leucadia's  steep, 
Where  raging  love  sought  peace  within  the  deep, 
And  glowing  Sappho  sank,  but  left  to  fame 
A  magic  song  and  an  immortal  name — 
Thou  bid'st  him  see  the  vengeful  Roman  fall, 
Ira  deadly  fury  on  the  insulting  Gaul ; 


GENIUS.  139 

Redeeming  with  the  glory  of  that  blow 
The  stain  that  Rome  had  yielded  to  a  foe. 
They  pass  in  long  review — the  scenes  of  old, 
The  mighty  chart  of  being  is  unrolled  ; 
The  heroic  spirits  of  the  past  return 
From  the  dull  ashes  of  the  burial  urn  : 
Again  they  act  each  animated  scene, 
Start  into  life>  and  are,  what  they  have  been  ! 

But  other  joys,  and  dearer  far,  are  thine, 
Joys  which  the  heart  would  but  with  life  resign  ; 
Commingled  lights  of  hope  and  memory, 
Which  shine  like  sun-rays  on  the  Tropic  sea — 
'T  is  thine  to  gild  the  heart  with  rosy  light, 
And  from  the  eye  to  drive  affliction's  night. 
Lo  !  where  the  moonlight  pours  its  mellow  smile 
On  yonder  broken  and  deserted  pile, 
Where  the  moss  mantles  each  cold  stone  with  green. 
A  sad  and  solitary  man  is  seen  : — 
What  doth  he  there,  with  eyes  so  dark  and  dim,. 
And  brow  so  sad  ?  what  is  this  spot  to  him  ? 
Ah  !  this  lone  spot  is  his  ancestral  hall ; 
His  fathers  sleep  beneath  yon  broken  wall  ; — 
Rank  waves  the  wild  weed  in  his  mother's  bower, 
Where  sounds  no  more  the  lute  at  evening  hour  ; 
The  sun  arises,  but  the  merry  horn 
Breaks  not  the  silence  of  the  dewy  morn ; 
The  stag  stands  fearless  on  the  mountain's  brow, 
Where  are  the  hounds,  the  hunter's  arrows  now  ? 
The  sun  descends  into  his  couch  of  rest, 
And  hides  his  glories  'neath  the  burning  west ; 


140  GENIUS. 

It  is  the  hour  of  gay  and  festal  cheer ; 

Doth  the  laugh  echo  on  the  listening  ear  ?• 

No !  evening  spreads  her  melancholy  pall.. 

In  solemn  silence  o'er  that  ancient  hall. 

Sad,  solitary  scion  of  a  line 

On  which  decay  hath  set  his  sullen  sign, 

What  seek'st  thou  in  the  mansion  of  thy  sires  ? 

Would'st  thou  revive  their  hearth's  exhausted  fires? 

Would' st  thou  expel  the  weed,  and  plant  the  flower 

Once  more  within  thy  mother's  wasted  bower  ? — 

Or  dost  thou  come  at  lone  midnight  to  weep 

Above  the  vault  where  thy  forefathers  sleep  ? 

Behold  yon  phantom  forms  !  they  come  !   they  come 

The  sainted  dead  have  left  their  marble  home ! 

What  is  that  graceful  form,  whose  robes  of  white 

Float  on  the  gentle  breezes  of  the  night  ? 

A  soft,  sweet  smile  gilds  that  unearthly  cheeky 

And  that  eye's  glance  is  pensive,  slow,  and  meek — 

It  is  the  mother's  spirit,  and  the  son 

Bends  to  the  earth,  and  claims  her  benison. 

Behold  another  and  a  sterner  shade. 

In  iron  helm  and  brazen  casque  arrayed,. 

The  spirit  of  the  warrior- father  stands 

As  when  of  erst  he  led  his  vassal  bands  ; 

Behind  him  see  a  high  and  haughty  throng 

Of  martial  spectres  slowly  march  along — 

They  pass  before  that  lonely  mortal's  eye,. 

In  all  the  semblance  of  reality. 

His  heart  exults  in  long  descended  pride,, 

His  noble  blood  swells  in  impetuous  tide, 


GENIUS.  141 

And,  glorying  in  his  ancestors'  renown, 
He  half  forgets  their  walls  are  broken  down, 
Imagination  !  this  he  owes  to  thee 
And  thy  sweet  sister,  gentle  memory ! 

Creative  Fancy  !  can'st  thou  paint  the  wild 
And  mighty  grandeur  of  thy  wayward  child, 
The  gifted  Byron  ?  can'st  thou  tell  if  death 
Appalled  the  spirit,  when  he  checked  the  breath  ? 
High-hearted  Bard !  in  whose  capacious  mind 
The  extremes  of  good  and  evil  were  combined  ; 
Common  in  nothing,  and  beyond  the  ken 
And  judgment  of  the  common  herd  of  men  ! 
Tempestuous  passions  wrapped  thy  heart  in  strife,. 
And  high  excitement  was  thy  life  of  life  ; 
Thy  searching  spirit,  and  far  reaching  thought, 
All  that  was  wonderful  in  nature  caught ; 
And  where  thy  glance  of  genius  brightly  fell, 
It  warmed  and  quickened  with  a  mystic  spelL 
Thy  words  are  words  of  wonder  and  of  fear, 
And  startle,  while  they  fascinate  the  ear : 
Wrapped  in  the  cloudy  mantle  of  thy  might, 
Thou  wast  a  marvel  to  our  mortal  sight. 
What  art  thou  now  ? — the  eye  seeks  thee  in  vain 
Upon  the  earth,  and  on  thy  much  loved  main. 
'T  is  night  o'er  Missolonghi's  silent  walls, 
And  wherefore  sounds  not  music  from  her  halls  ? 
It  is  the  season  of  the  Paschal  feast  ;* 
Why  hath  the  echo  of  the  revel  ceased  ? 

*  It  will  be  recollected,  that  Lord  Byron  died  during  the  days  of  Easter,  arm 
that  the  Festival  was  consequently  suspended. 


142  GENIUS. 

Behold  that  chamber,  where  the  shrouded  light 

Of  the  dim  lamp  half  glimmers  through  the  night : 

The  noiseless  step,  the  curtain  moved  with  care. 

Tell,  that  unsparing  death  is  busy  there. 

Look  on  that  couch — behold  that  faded  eye. 

Glazed  in  the  fixedness  of  agony, 

Yet,  yet  preserving  in  this  awful  hour 

A  portion  of  its  soul-pervading  power, 

And  sternly  gazing,  ere  death  dim  its  light* 

On  the  destroyer,  in  his  hour  of  might ! 

Is  that  the  haughty  Byron  ?  he  who  bore 

On  his  high  front  such  majesty  before  ? 

Where  is  the  passion  of  that  noble  brow  ? 

Where  is  its  wild  and  lofty  beauty  now  ? 

Wan,  pale,  he  lies,  while  Fate's  uplifted  dart 

Flames  in  fierce  light  above  that  generous  heart ! 

Away — away  !  avert  the  anxious  eye  ; 

In  silent  solitude  let  Genius  die  : 

Let  no  unhallowed  step,  nor  glance,  nor  breath 

Disturb  the  sacredness  of  such  a  death  ! 

Behold !  that  wasted  hand  is  clenched  in  pain, 

And  fire  unearthly  lights  that  eye  again  ; 

On  that  pale  cheek  the  death  sweat  gathers  fast, 

His  lip  is  writhed — that  struggle  is  his  last 

The  spirit  hath  departed  on  its  way 

To  unknown  worlds — and  Byron  is  but  clay ! 

Where  are  thy  pleasures.  Genius,  where  thy  joy  ? 
In  scenes  where  man  doth  mix  not  his  alloy  ; 
When  the  calm  midnight  moon  hath  climbed  the  sky 
And  the  stars  roll  in  vast  eternity  ; 


GENIUS.  143 

When  the  night  spirits  sail  upon  the  breeze, 

And  a  low  music  whispers  from  the  trees  ; 

When  the  pure  tears  of  the  departed  day 

Hang  in  rich  dew-drops  on  the  leafy  spray ; 

When  holy  silence  lingers,  sad  and  still, 

On  the  dark  valley  and  the  moonlit  hill, — 

Behold  the  child  of  Genius  musing  there  ! 

Hath  earth  for  him  a  scene  more  fond  or  fair  ; 

See,  his  wrapt  eye  is  burning  with  delight, 

In  his  beloved  companionship  with  night — - 

His  buoyant  spirit  glows  with  high  desire, 

To  hold  communion  with  those  orbs  of  fire. 

Those  glorious  stars  on  nature's  diadem, 

Heaven's  sacred  lights  !  how  doth  he  worship  them  ! 

What  wonder  if  the  idolatrous  Chaldee 

Made  them  the  rulers  of  his  destiny, 

And  anxious  watched,  and  worshipped  from  afar, 

The  holy  lustre  of  his  guardian  star  ! 

Or  seek  the  child  of  Genius  at  the  hour 
When  the  mad  tempest  walks  abroad  in  power  ; 
When  the  storm-spirit  shrieks  upon  the  wind, 
And  elements  in  conflict  fierce  are  joined. 
What  spirit  lights  that  animated  form 
Which  holds  such  high  connexion  with  the  storm  ? 
The  lightnings  leap  round  that  uncovered  head, 
And  the  air  trembles  with  the  thunder's  tread, — 
Big,  thick,  and  fast,  the  heavy  rain-drops  pour. 
The  forests  bend,  the  mountain  torrents  roar  : 
It  is  a  scene  of  terror  and  despair  ; 
Yet,  look,  and  see  the  child  of  Genius  there  ! 


144  GENIUS. 

His  cheek  is  flushed — his  bosom  throbbing  high. 

Wild  rapture  gleaming  in  his  fiery  eye  ; 

His  soul  partaking  of  the  tempest's  flight, 

And  glowing  proudly  with  a  fierce  delight. 

These  scenes  are  his — for  him  in  earth  and  air, 

Creation's  ample  bosom  is  laid  bare  ; 

For  him  the  book  of  nature  is  unsealed, 

And  all  her  mighty  mystery  revealed. 

High  favoured  mortal !  unto  him  are  given 

Dreams  which  have  less  of  earth  in  them  than  heaven — 

Hues,  which  are  coloured  with  eternity, 

And  visions,  boundless  as  immensity ! 

Alas !  that  ere  those  dreams  should  be  profaned — 

Alas !  that  those  bright  hues  should  e'er  be  stained — 

Alas  !  that  Genius,  in  his  hour  of  pride, 

Should  mock  the  source  whence  he  derives  his  tide. 

Oh,  holy  virtue  !  charm  of  life  and  love, 

How  hast  thou  mourned  to  see  high  Genius  rove, 

And  pluck  his  laurel  in  forbidden  bowers, 

Of  poisonous  plants  and  pestilential  flowers, 

Wrapped  in  those  thoughts  which  lead  the  heart  astray. 

And  quench,  for  ever  quench,  the  beam  of  day! 

Through  pride,  the  brightest  of  the  angels  fell — 

Pride  oped  for  him  the  hot  abyss  of  hell — 

Pride  drove  him  rashly  from  his  duty's  path, 

And  doomed  his  soul  to  everlasting  wrath. 

Proud  Genius  !     Heaven-born  spirit !  wo  to  thee. 

When  thou  forsak'st  thy  parent  deity  ! 

Thy  high-wrought  energies,  thy  might  sublime, 

But  sink  thee  deeper  in  the  gulf  of  crime  ; 


GENIUS.  145 

15arth  hath  no  middle  course  for  such  as  thee  ; 
Angel  or  Devil  thou  must  ever  be  1 
Fade,  fade,  ye  hated  laurels,  which  are  spreacl 
In  gloomy  wreaths  around  the  skeptic's  head  ;   * 
Sink  in  oblivion,  thou  unholy  fame, 
Which  hold'st  aloft  the  honors  of  his  name  •! 
They  turn  to  ashes  life's  delicious  fruit ; 
They  bid  the  angel  voice  of  hope  be  mute  ; 
They  crush  the  flowers,  the  fairest  and  the  first, 
And  purest,  which  the  heart  hath  ever  nursed  j 
They  render  time  a  dark  and  dismal  wave, 
And  spread  tremendous  horror  o'er  the  grave  ! 
What !  shall  this  vital  and  ethereal  spark 
Sink  into  night  for  ever  drear  and  dark, 
Nor  find  beyond  the  grave  a  world  of  bliss, 
Pure  from  the  sins  and  agonies  of  this  ? 
Away,  away  with  this  detested  thought, — 
Vile  web,  by  vain  and  shallow  sophists  wrought ' 
Great  nature  cries,  through  all  her  vast  domain, 
The  soul  shall  seek  its  sister  clay  again  ! 
It  shall — it  shall — and  reach  a  starry  home, 
Where  evil  passions  shall  not  dare  to  come  ; 
Where  rage,  revenge,  ambition,  lust,  remorse, 
Hate,  envy,  and  despair  shall  lose  their  force  ; 
Nor  rack,  nor  torture  more  the  bleeding  breast, 
But  all  shall  be  serene,  and  bright,  and  blessed. 

Fair  Hope,  of  heavenly  immortality  ! 
How  dread  were  death,  if  unassuaged  by  thee  ! 
Lo  !  love  is  pouring  deep  affliction's  tear, 
Where  parted  beauty  rests  upon  the  bier!— 
13 


146  GENIUS, 

Look  on  that  face  which  lately  smiled  so  fair ' 

See  how  those  soulless  eye-balls  ghastly  glare  i 

Mark  on  that  brow  the  purpling  of  decay  ! 

Mark  how  those  cheeks  collapse  and  shrink  away  >. 

Behold  the  whiteness  of  that  ashy  lip  1 

Is  that  the  spot  where  love  his  sweets  should  sip  ? 

Touch  that  white  hand — it  answers  not  thy  grasp  : 

Embrace  that  breast — it  beats  not  to  thy  clasp  ; 

Pour  in  that  ear  the  song  of  love  and  truth, 

The  song  which  ne'er  before  hath  failed  to  soothe  ; 

Gaze  on  those  eyes, — erst  shrines  of  living  light, — 

Those  eyes  so  late  with  thought  and  feeling  bright, — 

What,  will  they  answer  not  ?  nor  look  nor  voice 

Bid  thee  to  hope,  to  love,  and  to  rejoice  ? 

Then  wherefore  vainly  linger,  fondly  stay, 

And  waste  affection  on  a  clod  of  clay  ? 

Ah  !  this  is  death,  mysterious,  dreaded  death  1 

That  ruthless  severer  of  clay  and  breath ! 

He  hath  broke  rudely  into  beauty's  bower, 

Hath  cut  with  iron  scythe  her  rosy  flower  ; 

Down  his  dark  vale  hath  borne  her  witching  charms, 

And  chilled  her  blossoms  in  his  icy  arms ! 

Behold  !  she  is  but  cold  and  senseless  earth, 

She  who  so  late  was  life,  and  love,  and  mirth  ; 

She  speaks  not — moves  not— ^breathes  not — smiles  not 

now, 

Gone  is  the  glory  of  her  sunny  brow  : 
A  marble  stillness  and  a  moveless  gloom 
Usurp  the  light,  the  playfulness,  the  bloom, 
The  bland  allurements  which  were  now  but  hid 
Neath  the  dark  lash  of  that  voluptuous  lid. 


GENIUS.  147 

Oh,  balmy  smiles,  and  soul  subduing  tears, 

Heart-scorching  fervors,  changeful  hopes  and  fears, 

Hot  gusts  of  passion,  fraught  with  living  fire, 

Soft  sighs  of  fondness  and  of  pure  desire, 

Red  blush  of  modest  and  ingenuous  shame, 

Thou  dearest  offering  of  the  vestal  flame, 

Sweet  song  of  love,  nature's  primeval  hymn, 

Bright  glance  of  love,  which  nought  but  death  could  dim; 

Where  are  ye  now  ?  sleep  ye  beneath  the  thrall 

Of  yonder  dark  and  melancholy  pall  ? 

What !  have  ye  vanished  like  a  summer  dream  ; 

What !  shall  your  cheering  ray  no  longer  beam, 

And  shall  the  voice  of  love  for  aye  be  still  ? 

Then  wherefore  Heaven  did'st  thou  impart  its  thrill '.' 

If  love  be  but  a  transitory  fire, 

Doomed  for  a  while  to  glitter  and  expire  ; 

If  by  the  hand  of  death  its  chords  be  riven, 

Nor  reunited  in  the  halls  of  Heaven, 

Pure  from  the  grossness  of  its  mortal  tye, 

And  wreathed  with  roses  which  can  never  die  ; 

If  the  high  bosom  of  impassioned  youth, 

With  all  its  generous  attributes — its  truth — 

Its  boundless  zeal — its  star-fixed  honor — all 

Those  sparkling  gems  of  the  heart's  coronal ; 

If  these  be  doomed  to  everlasting  sleep, 

Come,  dark  oblivion,  with  thy  waters  deep ! 

Come,  sullen  death  !  upon  thy  wing  of  night, 

And  wrap  at  once  in  shade  my  being's  light ! 

I  would  not  live,  if  life  and  love  be  vain  ; 

[f  for  the  toil,  the  trial,  and  the  pain, 


148  MAN. 

The  restless  anguish  of  these  mortal  hours, 

No  meed  be  offered  in  eternal  bowers ; 

If  holy  faith  be  but  a  bigot's  dream, 

If  heaven-ward  hope  be  but  a  meteor's  beam 

Upon  the  vast  waves  of  eternity, 

Then  wherefore  do  we  live,  or  wherefore  die  ' 

Wo,  wo  for  man,  if  the  rapacious  tomb 

Enwrap  his  spirit  in  eternal  gloom ! 

If  erf  ear,  unconscious  nothingness  await 

The  soul  beyond  that  dim  and  silent  gate, 

Where  the  worm  banquets  on  the  faded  form, 

Which  no  returning  spark  shall  ever  warm  ; 

Then  cursed  be  Hope  for  her  beguiling  strain  !• 

Cursed  be  her  fancies  and  her  visions  vain  1 

Cursed  be  the  tree  of  life,  whose  worthless  blossom 

Drops  ne'er  to  spring  again  on  earth's  cold  bosom  I. 


His  heart  beat  joyously  in  spring, 

When  earth  and  all  its  scenes  were  new  : 
His  hopes  were  out  upon  the  wing, 

And  all  was  rapture  to  the  view. 
There  was  no  cloud  that  hung  on  high, 

The  bright  blue  air  to  shade  ; 
And  upwards  as  he  turned  his  eye. 

The  sun  in  all  his  glory  played 


MAN.  149 

Swiftly  on  Time's  unceasing  course 

Elapsed  his  boyhood's  day — 
Unstained  by  anguish  or  remorse, 

But  unprofaned  and  gay. 
O  !  those  were  life's  enchanted  hours, 

When  Innocence  and  Truth 
Sprung  round  his  heart,  like  Eden-flowers, 

And  led  him  into  Youth. 

Youth  came  ;  and  with  it  came  the  pride 

And  noble  impulse  of  the  breast, 
That  each  unworthy  deed  defied, 

And  each  unworthy  thought  suppressed  : 
And  in  his  heart  was  loftiness, 

The  consciousness  of  worth  ; 
'How  proudly  did  his  footstep  press 

Along  the  pilgrimage  of  earth  ! 

Then  Pleasure,  when  his  heart  was  wann, 

Her  magic  fetters  o'er  him  threw  ; 
His  arms  enclosed  her  lovely  form, 

Nor  recked  he  how  the  moments  flew. 
But  soon  he  wakened  from  his  dream  ; 

He  broke  her  golden  chain  ; 
Upon  his  soul  Truth  pour'd  her  beam. 

And  he  was  pure  again. 

He  loved  ;  and  his  was  such  a  love 

It  seem'd  not  of  a  mortal  mind, 
But  caught  from  Heaven's  shrine  above — 

So  fond,  so  fervent,  and  refined. 
13* 


150  MAW. 

And  as  he  watched  her  winning  smile. 

That  played  in  pensive  loveliness, 
He  well  believed  it  could  beguile 

Life's  deepest,  most  severe  distress. 

He  loved  ;  aye,  and  he  was  beloved 

With  woman's  fond  sincerity  ; 
That  heart  shrunk  not  when  fortune  moved 

Her  night-clouds  o'er  his  destiny. 
But  ruin  darkly  overspread 

Its  ivy  on  love's  wreath  of  bloom; 
Until  its  freshness  all  had  fled  : 

It  seemed  a  chaplet  for  the  tomb. 

She  faded  from  him,  like  the  leaf 

In  Autumn's  melancholy  bower  : 
O  !  none  may  know  his  heartfelt  grief. 

The  anguish  of  his  lonely  hour. 
In  silent  wo  he  saw  her  laid 

Lowly  beneath  the  burial  clod  ; 
And  oft  at  eventide  he  strayed 

To  bathe  with  tears  her  grassy  sod. 

And  then  he  raised  his  eye  aloft 

To  heaven's  blue  arch  serenely  fair  ; 
While  deep  affection  whispered  soft, 

That  worshipped  one  was  blooming  there. 
But  where  were  love's  delighted  hours  ? 

In  dark  oblivious  night : 
Where  were  his  early  cherished  flowers  ? 

Swept  by  untimely  blight. 


MAN. 

There  came  a  shadow  o'er  his  soul  i 

The  past  he  coldly  spurn'd, 
Shook  from  his  memory's  control, 

And  to  the  future  turned  : 
With  hope  less  warm,  but  not  subdued. 

He  mixed  in  life  once  more  ; 
With  energy  of  heart  renewed, 

But  less  confiding  than  before. 

And  now  he  pressed,  with  heart  of  flame. 

In  the  wild  struggle  of  mankind, 
To  win  the  evergreens  of  fame, 

And  round  his  brow  the  wreath  to  bind 
His  idol — Honour  :  nobly  proud, 

Impetuously  he  bore  him  on, 
To  rise  on  high  above  the  crowd, 

And  wear  that  idol  honor's  crown. 

But  wither'd  Hope  around  him  clung, 

Cold  as  the  pall  around  the  bier  ; 
And  Fortune's  clouds  above  him  hung, 

Like  wintry  shadows  o'er  the  year. 
He  paused  him  in  the  noon  of  life  ; 

Reviewed  the  chequered  course  he  ran 
The  busy  scenes  of  earthly  strife, 

That  form'd  the  youth  into  the  man. 

And  gone  was  all  that  lightsomeness 

And  buoyancy  of  thought  ; 
His  soul  had  met  with  rude  distressr 

And  borne  it  as  he  ought. 


152  MAN. 

His  memory  told  of  hopes  deceived 

Of  faded  dreams  of  bliss, 
Of  joys  he  vainly  had  believed 

Were  in  a  world  so  drear  as  this- 

At  last  his  sun  began  to  set : 

Life's  evening  shadows  fell  j 
But  hope  was  in  his  bosom  yet, 

Nor  could  she  bid  farewell. 
But  'twas  a  holier  hope  that  sprung 

Within  this  night  of  gloom  ; 
Around  the  shroud  its  glory  hung — 

Its  beam  played  on  the  tomb. 

Then  calmness  and  soft  peace  came  o'er 

His  long-distracted  breast, 
And  agonizing  pain  no  more 

Its  burning  seal  impressed. 
And  when  Life's  pulses  ceased  to  play, 

The  storms  of  being  past, 
He  laid  him  down  beneath  the  clay, 

And  peace  was  his  at  last. 


153 


The  following  lines  were  written  in  1821.  Since  that  time 
strange  events  have  happened;  three  great  European  powers 
have  blown  up  the  Turkish  navy  at  Navarin;  Ypsilanti  has 
gone  where  he  is  no  more  heard  of;  the  Greeks  have  been  libe 
rated,  and  a  protegee  of  Russia  (CAPO  D'!§TRIA)  has  been 
placed  over  them ;  and  lastly,  the  writer  of  these  lines  has  found 
out  that  the  Turks  are  not  half  so  bad  as  he  was  taught  to  con 
sider  them, 

Lo !   a  morning  hath  dawned  on  the  midnight  which 

slept 

On  the  land  of  the  Muse,  while  fair  liberty  wept ; 
While  her  tears  flowed  in  anguish,  and  never  could 

cease, 

For  the  heartless  oppression  that  trampled  on  Greece. 
She  wakes !  the  fierce  lioness  breaks  from  her  chain ! 
She  wakes  unto  glory  and  gladness  again ! 
Behold !  o'er  her  vales  and  the  mountains  afar, 
Through  the  clouds  of  her  shame  gleams  the  lightning 

of  war ! 

Shall  the  Ottoman  now  with  impunity  tread 
As  lord  o'er  that  land  where  Leonidas  bled  ? 
Shame,  shame  on  thee,  Europe ;  the  die  hath  been 

thrown, 

And  the  heroes  are  left  to  the  struggle  alone. 
Alas !  for  the  land  of  the  valiant,  where  sprung 
The  mighty  in  arm  and  persuasive  in  tongue  ; 


154  GREEK     STRUGGLE. 

Where  genius  was  born,  and  where  poesy  threw 
A  veil  of  enchantment  to  brighten  the  view  ; 
Where  philosophy  opened  her  magical  page, 
The  guardian  of  youth  and  the  solace  of  age  ; 
Where  the  life-breathing  canvass  delighted  the  eye 
With  the  roses  of  earth  and  the  hues  of  the  sky, 
And  the  scenfes  consecrated  by  passion  and  love 
Could  glow  with  expression,  could  smile,  and  couM 

move ; 

Where  the  marble  of  Paros,  all  polished  in  form, 
Seemed  to  melt,  and  to  breathe,  with  humanity  warm  ; 
Where  the  columns  in  grace  and  in  grandeur  combined, 
Seemed  the  fabrics  of  heaven,  though  the  work  of  man 
kind  !  ^ 

Where  Pallas  presided,  and%lessed  the  domain 
On  which  piety  reared  her  majestical  fane  ; 
Where  the  chalice  was  filled  and  libations  were  poured 
To  that  tutelar  goddess,  that  Virgin  adored ! 
Alas !  shall  the  Moslem  be  suffered  to  twine 
His  fetters  accursed  round  the  Parthenon's  shrine  .' 
Oh  where  is  the  spirit,  oh  where  is  the  spear 
That  checked  the  proud  Persian's  insulting  career. 
That  stood  against  millions  unmoved  as  the  rock 
When  the  waves  of  old  ocean  rush  on  to  the  shock  ? 
That  spirit  now  springs  from  the  depth  of  the  grave. 
And  claims  for  its  son  YPSILANTI  the  brave! 

Faith !  there  rose  thine  altai ;  thy  temple  was  there. 
And  shone  from  afar  like  a  beacon  in  air ; 
On  that  soil  where  the  cross  of  religion  was  reared. 
From  heaven  imparted,  by  mortals  revered  : 


TURKISH     CRESCENT.  155 

Then  once  more  from  the  sky  let  the  dim  crescent  wane. 
And  the  cross  float  in  triumph  o'er  Athos  again. 
Oh  Greece !  be  thy  mightiness  such  as  of  old, 
When  the  heroes  of  Sparta  and  Macedon  rolPd 
With  high  emulation  to  mix  in  the  fight, 
Unshackled  in  arm  and  impetuous  in  might : 
Remember  the  laurels  Themistocles  won, 
Let  Salamis  witness  the  deeds  he  has  done ! 
Away  with  thy  fetters,  oppression,  and  shame  ; 
Awake  thee  to  honour,  to  freedom,  and  fame ! 
Then  the  Muse  yet  again  o'er  Olympus  shall  stray, 
And  the  summit  of  Ida  re-echo  her  lay  ; 
Then  Genius  anew  on  thy  region  shall  dawn, 
And  the  future  shall  equal  the  days  that  are  gone  ! 


TO   THE 

Crescent* 

PROUD  banner !  in  slaughter  deep  dyed 

The  flight  of  long  ages  hath  found  thee  ; 
Expanding  thy  folds  in  presumptuous  pride, 

While  the  shields  of  the  mighty  were  round  thee  : 
Thou  hast  waved  mid  the  pomp,  and  the  din, 

And  the  panoplied  rush  of  the  fight, 
When  the  ranks  of  the  valiant  grew  broken  and  thin. 

As  the  Saracen  strode  in  his  might. 
But  the  day  of  thy  doom  is  recorded  on  high  ; 
The  storm  of  thy  ruin  envelopes  the  sky. 


156  TURKISH     CRESCENT. 

For  the  voices  of  thousands  unite, 

The  spirits  of  thousands  combine, 
To  dash  thee  in  dust  from  thy  towering  height, 

And  thy  glory  to  darkness  consign. 
There  are  murmurs  prophetic  and  loud  ; 

There  are  gatherings  of  nations  from  far  ; 
Behold  in  that  wild  and  tumultuous  crowd 

The  lion  prepared  for  the  war ! 
Beware  the  fierce  lion  !  he  tosses  his  mane, 
Impatiently  waiting  the  feast  of  the  slain ! 

There  's  a  tramp  on  the  turf,  and  a  sound 

Of  headlong  and  furious  speed  ; 
And  the  stam p,  and  the  prance,  and  the  paw  of  the  groun d , 

'Tis  the  bounding  of  Thessaly's  steed ; 
And  the  helmetted  rider  is  there, 

With  the  blaze  of  revenge  in  his  glance  ; 
Far  glitters  the  flash  of  his  sabre  in  air, 

And  the  plumes  o'er  his  morion  dance. 
See  !  he  buries  the  spur  in  his  courser's  red  flanks, 
And  breaks  the  firm  front  of  the  Ottoman  ranks. 

Who  presses  amain  in  hot  haste* 

Thus  covered  with  dust  and  with  foam  ? 
Tis  the  Suliote  chieftain,  the  lord  of  the  waste ; 

He  comes  from  the  hills  of  his  home  : 
He  comes  !  in  impetuous  might ; 

He  comes  !  in  victorious  joy  ; 
Like  the  angel  that  rides  on  the  tempest  of  night, 

His  arm  is  outstretched  to  destroy. 
The  clangour  of  steel  and  the  war-shout  resound, 
See,  see  the  proud  Crescent  is  hurled  to  the  ground { 


TURKISH    CRESCENT*  157 

^o  !  the  storms  in  dark  violence  break 

O'er  the  Pass  where  Leonidas  died  : 
Awake,  Spartan  spirits  !  dead  heroes,  awake 

On  the  spot  where  ye  fell  in  your  pride ! 
Hark !  the  trumpet  is  rending  the  air  ; 

It  sounds  o'er  the  earth  and  the  waves  of  the  sea  : 
Your  sons  are  embattled,  and  sternly  they  swear 

That  earth  and  those  waves  shall  be  free ! 
And  God  hath  looked  down  on  that  Christian  array, 
And  hath  broken  the  yoke  of  the  infidel's  sway. 

Now  the  red  cross  is  floating  in  peace 

O'er  the  mountains,  the  valleys,  the  waves  t 
Triumphantly  shout  the  bold  heroes  of  Greece, 

For  free  are  their  forefathers'  graves  : 
Prophetic  and  true  be  the  strain  ! 

Earth  !  red  be  thy  breast  with  the  Ottoman's  gore. 
Till  freedom  shall  smile  on  Ionia's  main, 

On  the  fair  Cyclades  and  Pieria's  shore. 
Break  forth,  thou  bright  morn,  when  all  nations  shall  see 
The  land  of  the  bard  and  the  warrior  FREE  ! 


The  foregoing  was  written  in  1822,  and  the  following  in 
ni  commemoration  of  the  repulse  of  the  Russians.  As  the 
writer  makes  no  pretensions  to  consistency,  he  does  not  fee! 
bound  to  give  any  reasons  for  his  change  of  opinion,  except  that 
he  wishes  success  to  hrave  men  who  are  fighting  for  the  homes; 
«">f  their  fathers-. 


14 


158 


<TUr  Russian  Urtreat. 

BACK— back  to  thy  Muscovy,  Czar ! 

For  perils  encumber  thy  path  ; 
For  the  Crescent  on  Haemus  gleams  proudly  from  far- 

And  the  Turk  hath  descended  in  wrath. 
In  pride  did'st  thou  gird  on  thy  sword  ; 

As  a  conqueror  wentest  thou  forth  ; 
And  thy  blasphemy  called  on  the  name  of  the  Lord*, 

As  thy  legions  swept  down  from  the  North  ! 
Go,  chant  thy  Te  Deum  at  Catharine's  shrine, 
Since  fate  hath  not  willed  that  Sophia's*  be  thine  ! 

Back,  savage  and  barbarous  bird  ! 

Black  eagle  of  Muscovy,  back  ! 
Go,  scream  in  thine  eyrie,  unheeded,  unheard, 

For  scorn  marks  thy  fugitive  track  ! 
Thou  earnest  in  pomp  and  in  pride, 

And  Europe  looked  on  with  dismay  ; 
But  the  sons  of  the  Moslem  thy  fury  defied, 

And  they  drove  thee,  stern  spoiler,  away. 
Go,  hide  thy  dark  pinion  in  coldness  and  gloom, 
For  the  arrows  from  Haemus  have  broken  thy  plume 

Back,  ye  lawless  invaders !  ye  slaves, 

Who  came  in  your  panoplied  might, 
Ye  legions  who  loaded  the  Danube's  broad  waves, 

And  exultingly  rushed  to  the  fight ! 

*  The  church  of  Sancta  Sophia  was  built  by  the  Emperor  Justinian.  i» 
sixth  century. 


TIME.  169 

Back,  back  to  your  ices  and  snows, 

In  defeat,  in  dishonour,  end  shame  ; 
No  fair  hands  with  laurel  shall  circle  your  brows, 

No  bard  raise  the  song  to  your  fame ! 
And  lo,  while  ye  throng  to  that  proud  river's  banks, 
How  fiercely  the  Delhis  will  hang  on  your  ranks ! 

And  hail  to  thy  spirit  undaunted, 

Thou  boast  of  the  Ottoman  line  ! 
Thine  eye  hath  not  quivered,  thy  heart  hath  not  panted, 

Proud  Soldan,  what  honours  are  thine ! 
Go,  look  on  the  tombs  of  thy  fathers, 

Where  the  wide-spreading  cypresses  frown  ; 
And  swear  that  whenever  war's  hurricane  gathers, 

Thou  wilt  not  disgrace  their  renown ! 
That  the  yellow-haired  Russ  shall  not  sit  on  the  throne. 
Which  the  valour  and  might  of  thy  ancestors  won ! 


TRIUMPHANT  Time  !  thy  wayward  course  began 
When  young  creation *s  bloom  was  fresh  and  new  : 
When  to  illume  the  heritage  of  Man, 
The  light  of  Eden  sparkled  on  the  view  ; 
When  earth  was  fair,  and  every  breeze  that  blew 
Across  her  bosom  murmured  gently  by, 
Full-fraught  with  fragrance  ;  ere  the  tempest  flew 
In  fearful  gloominess  to  veil  the  sky, 
To  shroud  its  beams,  and  hide  its  golden  dye. 


160  TIME. 

Then  man  was  happy,  innocent,  and  young, 

His  hope  unclouded  as  the  heaven  above  ; 

Then  angel  woman  to  his  bosom  clung, 

And  wakened  all  her  witchery  of  love  : 

She  came  from  heaven  like  the  Almighty  dove, 

To  win  his  soul  with  seraph  tenderness  ; 

Her  flowery  bonds  of  bliss  she  interwove, 

To  bind  his  spirit  in  her  fond  caress, 

And  life  was  blessed,  bright,  and  sorrowless. 

Then,  then,  oh  Time  !  thy  wing  was  waving  light. 
To  fan  the  flowers  that  beautified  thy  way  ; 
Then  was  existence  teeming  with  delight, 
And  sparkling  in  a  gay  and  glorious  day  ; 
Then  was  the  spirit,  in  its  mortal  clay, 
Breathing  as  with  a  pure  celestial  glow  : 
But  sin  and  sorrow  came  in  dread  array, 
To  blight  the  buds  and  lay  the  blossom  low.. 
And  earth  became  a  hermitage  of  woe. 

Ah,  mournful  change  !  that  paradise  so  fair, 

So  beautiful  and  bonny  in  its  bloom, 

And  glorious  spring,  and  primal  freshness— there 

Came  Melancholy  in  her  shroud  of  gloom, 

And  Care  to  waste,  to  wither,  and  consume 

The  aching  spirit  in  untimely  blight ; 

Then  bent  the  soul  of  Man  beneath  its  doom, 

When  Innocence  and  Virtue  took  their  flight* 

And  left  the  world  involved  in  Sorrow's  night; 


TIME.  1§1 

^d  still  hath  Man  a  ray  of  bliss  on  earth  ; 
The  garden  of  his  life  hath  still  a  hue, 
While  shines  his  morning  in  its  hour  of  mirth, 
Cloudless  awhile,  and  robed  as  yet  in  blue  : 
That  germ  of  paradise,  so  fair  to  view, 
Is  fond  Affection's  first  and  purest  spring, 
When  each  emotion  of  the  heart  is  true. 
Ere  hope  hath  lost  her  buoyancy  of  wing, 
Or  the  cold  world  hath  brought  its  withering. 

Oh,  ever  dear  and  hallowed  be  the  hour, 

When  angel  Love  descends  on  rosy  wing 

To  cull  the  blossoms  in  life's  young  May-bower, 

And  lull  the  anguish  of  Affliction's  sting  ! 

Oh,  ever  blessed  be  that  holy  spring 

Whence  flow  the  streams  of  love  and  faithfulness. 

In  purest  waves  of  gentle  murmuring, 

Shedding  a  balm  on  every  rude  distress  ; 

Fountains  of  bliss  in  the  world's  wilderness  ! 

Oh,  ever  dear  and  hallowed  be  the  hour ! 
Let  youth  enjoy  it  ere  its  sweets  be  fled ; 
Ere  the  dark  storms  of  destiny  shall  lower. 
And  break  in  rude  commotion  o'er  the  head  : 
When  the  fierce  shaft  of  Misery  hath  sped 
Unto  the  breast,  and  griefs  are  gathering  rife, 
The  memory  of  its  blessings  shall  be  shed, 
A  beam  of  gladness  on  the  world  of  strife  ! 
A  rainbow  on  the  shrouded  sky  of  life  ! 
14* 


1621''  TIME: 

Subduer,  Time  !     Stern  conqueror  of  all ! 
Avenger  of  the  follies  of  mankind ! 
Pride,  honour,  power,  and  grandeur  own  thy  thrall. 
And  are  by  thee  to  nothingness  consigned. 
But  canst  thou  master  the  immortal  mind  .' 
There,  all  in  vain  dost  thou  thy  fury  pour  ; 
Its  march  is  onward,  free  and  unconfined  ; 
Such  as  the  Roman  annals  showed  of  yore, 
And  such  as  glorified  the  Grecian  shore. 

Oh,  there  was  Glory's  consecrated  clime, 
Where  Sappho  breathed,  and  where  Anacreon  sung 
Where  Genius  flourished  in  the  olden  time, 
And  dwelt  upon  the  Athenian's  gifted  tongue: 
His,  who  the  thunderbolts  at  Philip  flung, 
And  urged  his  countrymen  the  fight  to  dare  ; 
Where  heaven  itself  a  Homer's  lyre  had  strung 
With  chords  that  echoed  sweetly  on  the  air> 
As  if  the  melody  of  heaven  was  there ! 

And  there  was  Valour's  spirit,  proud  and  high. 
Which  shone  resplendent  on  the  cloud  of  war  ; 
Where  Mars  himself  poured  forth  his  battle  en. 
And  lashed  the  coursers  to  his  blood-dyed  car, 
As  shone  the  ray  of  conquest  from  afar, 
The  beacon  of  each  hero,  on  whose  eye 
It  beamed  a  guiding  and  a  natal  star, 
Like  Israel's  fiery  pillar,  streaming  high, 
And  blazing  bright  athwart  the  Egyptian  sky  i 


TIME.  16$ 

There  fell  the  Spartan  :  fearlessly  he  fell, 

And  smiled  in  the  red  agony  of  death  ; 

Yea,  there  was  triumph  in  his  battle-knell, 

And  victory  in  every  ebb  of  breath ; 

Undying  glory  twined  the  laurel  wreath 

Round  the  lone  cypress  that  o'ershades  the  grave, 

Memorial  of  the  one  who  slept  beneath, 

Of  him  whose  life-blood  poured  forth  like  the  wave- 

The  young,  the  proud,  the  generous,  the  brave ! 

Undying  Glory !     Man  may  pass  away 
Like  the  light  bubble  floating  on  the  stream, 
Like  the  expiring  blossom  of  a  day, 
Or  the  frail  dew-drop  in  the  sunny  beam  :- 
Yes,  short  and  transitory  is  his  dream 
Of  youthful  love,  joy's  evanescent  hour, 
Of  hope's  beguiling  and  bewitching  theme  ; 
But  when  the  storms  of  fate  and  ages  lower. 
Glory  defies  and  mocks  their  baleful  power, 

For  this,  the  unfading  light  of  Glory  smiles 
On  the  fair  soil  of  Greece,  and  on  the  bay 
Where  in  their  beauty  spread  Ionia's  isles^ 
Washed  and  enwreathed  around  by  ocean's  spray  ; 
For  this,  eternal  Summer  sheds  her  ray 
On  high  Parnassus  ;  and  that  Helicon, 
Where  the  Muse  chanted  her.  bewitching  lay 
In  days  of  yore,  that  melody  is  gone, 
And  those  loved  bowers  are  desolate  and  lone... 


164  TIME. 

Yes,  here — oh,  here  the  scythe  of  Time  hath  swept. 
The  torch  of  Time  hath  gone  abroad  to  burn  ; 
And  here,  for  many  an  age,  hath  Genius  slept, 
But  not  unhonoured,  in  the  noiseless  urn  ! 
Still  doth  the  eye  with  kind  expression  turn 
To  that  illustrious  and  all  hallowed  clime. 
The  light  of  former  ages  to  discern, 
When  genius  flourished  in  its  lofty  prime, 
And  the  mind  sprung  triumphant  over  Time ! 

And  thus  it  is :  kingdoms  may  fall  in  dust, 
The  coronals  of  empire  may  decay, 
The  sceptre  perish,  and  the  helmet  rust, 
And  power  and  proud  dominion  pass  away  : 
These  are  the  transient  baubles  of  a  day  : 
But  the  mind  glows  in  its  immortal  bloom, 
And  Genius  sheds  an  unextinguished  ray 
Upon  life's  scenes  of  dreariness  and  gloom, 
Victorious  over  Time — victorious  o'er  the  tomb  ! 


*»•  JHan  of  Sorrotos." 

A  MAN  of  sorrows  and  of  wo, 

'Twas  thus  of  old  the  prophet  sung, 
Who  felt  the  words  of  heaven  flow 

In  inspiration  from  his  tongue  : 
Well  might  the  prophet's  words  be  sooth 

To  all  beneath  the  golden  sun  ; 
But  be  it  mine  to  paint  their  truth 

In  the  dark  destiny  of  one. 


MAN     OP     SORROWS. 

Kind  nature  gave  him  feelings  strong, 

Lofty,  impetuous,  and  sincere  ; 
But  envy,  perfidy,  and  wrong, 

Conspired  to  lay  those  feelings  sear : 
Deceived,  deserted,  and  betrayed, 

By  many  a  shaft  of  fate  pursued, 
The  earth  to  him  became  a  shader 

A  melancholy  solitude. 

He  knelt  at  many  an  idol's  shrine, 

But  found  congenial  warmth  in  none 
And  every  wreath  his  hope  could  twine 

Was  quickly  blighted  and  undone  : 
And  then  he  bowed  beneath  the  wo 

That  brooded  o'er  life's  little  span  ; 
He  bent  him  to  affliction's  blow, 

He  bent,  but  bore  it  like  a  man. 

In  proud  and  uncomplaining  grief, 

He  walked  upon  his  lonely  way  ; 
But  have  ye  marked  the  yellow  leaf, 

Consuming  on  the  broken  spray  ? 
He  loved  its  dying  beauty  well ; 

To  him  it  had  a  warning  tone  ; 
And  when  its  bloom  to  ruin  fell, 

It  seemed  an  emblem  of  his  own. 

He  loved  to  watch  the  setting  sun 
Go  down  beneath  the  crimson  west ;.-. 

And  wished  his  own  career  were  run. 
That  he  might  also  be  at  rest, 


MAN     OF     SORROWS. 

He  thought  the  sod  would  lighter  press, 

Than  life's  accumulated  wo  ; 
He  thought  the  wave  of  cold  distress 

Perchance  would  there  forget  to  flow ! 

There  was  a  time — what  boots  it  now 

On  spectres  of  the  past  to  call  ? 
For  will  it  cool  his  burning  brow, 

Or  will  it  gild  his  spirit's  pall  ? 
But  yet  there  was  a  joyous  time, 

When  youthful  hope  delighted  sung, 
And  o'er  his  bright  and  golden  prime 

The  sunny  sky  of  fortune  hung. 

His  heart  was  then  in  freshest  play, 

And  in  its  fair  unclouded  spring  ; 
And  blithsome  was  his  roundelay, 

Like  that  of  wild  birds  on  the  wing. 
Oh,  for  that  soul-enchanting  song 

Which  charmed  his  boyhood's  rosy  hours. 
When  being's  current  swept  along 

A  shore  of  verdure  and  of  flowers  ; 

When  freely  flowed  life's  fountain  wave 

In  waters  of  the  purest  blue, 
And  every  scene  existence  gave 

Was  fresh,  was  beautiful,  was  new ; 
When  from  the  holy  fane  of  thought 

His  mind  derived  supreme  delight, 
And  every  tint  that  fancy  caught 

Was  fair,  and  glorious,  and  bright; 


MAN     OF     SORROWS.  1G7 

When  all  creation's  ample  space 

Before  him  spread  her  bosom  fair, 
And  gratitude  would  fondly  trace 

A  kind  Creator's  bounty  there  ; 
When  on  his  grand  majestic  march 

The  sun  pursued  his  glad  career, 
And  heaven  upreared  her  smiling  arch 

For  day's  resplendent  charioteer ! 

When  midnight  spread  her  milder  veil 

Upon  the  soft  and  dewy  sky, 
And  the  fair  moon  was  seen  to  sail 

In  pensive  loveliness  on  high  ; 
And  followed  by  the  evening  star, 

With  silver  clouds  around  her  curled. 
Danced  on  the  mountain  height  afar  ; 

A  cheering  beacon  to  the  world  ! 

When  on  the  mighty  thunder-storm, 

The  bow  of  promise  bent  its  span  ; 
Like  mercy,  bending  o'er  the  form 

Of  erring,  but  repentant,  man  ; 
And  wreathed  its  belt  around  the  air, 

Where  the  black  tempest  hung  his  shroud. 
Glowing  in  mingled  colours  there, — 

The  Almighty's  banner  on  the  cloud  I 

Oh,  when  his  heart  was  in  his  prime, 
These  scenes  were  revelry  to  him ! 

Ere  the  unsparing  hand  of  time 

Around  them  hung  his  mantle  dim  : 


MAN     OF     SORROWS, 

Ere  each  emotion  felt  the  chill, 

The  blight,  the  scathe,  the  withering. 

The  deep  and  agonizing  thrill 

Of  a  cold  world's  empoisoned  sting. 

His  earthly  idols,  where  are  they  ? 

Ay,  let  the  voice  of  memory  tell! 
Sprung  there  one  blessing  on  his  way  ? 

There  the  untimely  mildew  fell ! 
Was  there  one  flower  upon  his  path  ? 

There  the  hot  blast  of  ruin  blew, 
In  all  its  desolating  wrath, 

To  sear  and  scorch  its  rosy  hue  ! 

Behold  him  now  !  the  silvery  frost 

Not  yet  has  fallen  on  his  head  ; 
Yet  is  his  every  solace  lost, 

His  every  hope  of  pleasure  dead  ! 
And  years  of  pain  away  must  roll, 

Ere  his  brow  wear  the  almond  tree  : 
Yet  wintry  age  hath  chilled  his  soul 

To  iciness,  and  where  is  he  ? 

Behold  him,  'mid  the  giddy  throng 

Who  dance  the  days  of  life  away 
fn  joy,  in  revelry,  and  song, 

Seeming  the  gayest  of  the  gay  ! 
Behold  him  in  the  courtly  hall, 

Where  pleasure  leads  her  frolic  train, 
The  blithest  at  the  festival, 

Where  folly  holds  her  orgies  vain  ! 


MAN     OF     SORROWS.  10J) 

Behold  him  in  his  midnight  hour, 

When  lighter  hearts  are  lost  in  sleep, 
And  mark  his  struggles  with  the  power 

Of  anguish  too  severe  to  weep  ! 
Nor  be  that  proud  deceit  a  blame, 

Which  o'er  his  agony  he  flings  ; 
Th'  expiring  eagle  doth  the  same, 

And  hides  his  death-wound  with  his  wings. 

But  yet  awhile,  oh,  yet  awhile, 

Victim  of  sorrow  !  thou  must  bear  ; 
Thy  heart  must  still  assume  the  smile, 

To  hide  the  barbed  arrows  there. 
Soon  may  the  cold  turf  be  thy  bed, 

Soon  may  the  green  grass  o'er  thee  wave, 
Soon  may  the  orb  thou  lovest,  shed 

His  parting  light  upon  thy  grave  .' 


170 


"Efie 


STRIKE  the  wild  harp  yet  once  again  ! 

Again  its  lonely  numbers  pour  ; 
Then  let  the  melancholy  strain 

Be  hushed  in  death  for  evermore, 
For  evermore,  for  evermore, 

Creative  fancy,  be  thou  still  ; 
And  let  oblivious  Lethe  pour 

Upon  my  lyre  its  waters  chill. 

Strike  the  wild  harp  yet  once  again  ! 

Then  be  its  fitful  chords  unstrung, 
Silent,  as  is  the  grave's  domain, 

And  mute  as  the  death-mouldered  tongue 
Let  not  a  thought  of  memory  dwell 

One  moment  on  its  former  song  ; 
Forgotten  too  be  this  farewell, 

Which  plays  its  pensive  strings  along  ! 

Strike  the  wild  harp  yet  once  again  ! 

The  saddest  and  the  latest  lay  ; 
Then  break  at  once  its  strings  in  twain, 

And  they  shall  sound  no  more  for  aye  : 
And  hang  it  on  the  cypress  tree, 

The  hours  of  youth  and  song  have  passed, 
Have  gone,  with  all  their  witchery  ! 

Lost  lyre  !  these  numbers  are  thy  last. 


171 


DARK  and  deep  is  the  curse  that  hangs  over  thy  clime. 

Italia — enwrapped  in  the  midnight  of  Time  ! 

Italia — the  proud,  the  allmighty  of  yore, 

But  the  country  of  heroes  and  sages  no  more. 

The  land  of  the  Caesars,  whose  glorious  sway 

Made  potentates  tremble  and  nations  obey  ; 

Where  an  Ovid  could  melt,  and  a  Horace  could  move. 

And  Tibullus  breathe  all  the  soft  languor  of  love  ; 

Where  the  wisdom  of  Cato  exalted  the  mind, 

And  Tully  shone  forth  as  the  pride  of  mankind  ; 

Where  Trajan  the  good,  and  the  just  Antonine, 

Bade  genius  to  flourish  and  learning  to  shine  ; 

Where  bards  and  where  heroes,  a  numberless  throng. 

Burned  in  battle's  commotion  or  melted  in  song, 

Till  the  seven-hilled  city  for  valour  and  worth 

Shone  proudly  afar  as  the  wonder  of  earth  ; 

Where  in  times  less  remote  an  ethereal  fire 

Breathed  warm  upon  Tasso's  melodious  lyre, 

Whose  strain  could  beguile  the  dull  prison,  where  wrono 

Had  thrown  the  bold  master  of  music  and  song  ; 

Where  the  strain  of  a  Dante  re-echoed  sublime, 

And  proud  Ariosto  sung  chivalry's  prime  ; 

Where  genius  and  taste  reared  their  classical  thronf; 

And  hailed  every  valley  and  hill  for  their  own. 

Fair  realm  of  Romance,  and  of  Poesy's  lay, 

All  beaming  with  summer,  all  lovely  and  gay. 


172  A    REMEMBRANCE. 

Remembrance  still  lingers  on  many  a  scene, 
And  glory  still  points  unto  what  thou  hast  been ! 
But  decayed  is  the  nerve  of  the  Roman  who  bor*. 
Thine  armies  in  triumph  to  Albion's  shore ; 
Thy  Julius,  thine  Adrian,  thy  Nerva  the  just, 
Have  for  ages  and  ages  been  mouldering  in  dust ; 
And  thy  sons  unaspiring  recoil  from  the  deed, 
For  freedom  to  strike  and  for  freedom  to  bleed  ! 


lieu  !  quanto  minus  cst  cum  rcliquis  versari  quam  tui  mominissr. 

THERE  is  a  hand  which  mine  hath  pressed, 
But  which  it  ne'er  can  press  again, 

Save  in  the  midnight  hour  of  rest, 
When  sleep  imparts  its  fancies  vain. 

There  is  an  eye  of  floating  blue, 
Which  ever  kindly  beam'd  on  me  ; 

There  is  a  cheek  of  lily  hue, 

Which  I,  alas !  no  more  can  see. 

There  is  a  smile  of  gentleness, 

Of  sweet  and  maiden  purity, 
Which  oft  in  visions  comes  to  bless 

The  mellowed  eye  of  memory. 


A    REMEMBRANCE.  173 

There  is  a  name  which  I  conceal 
Deep  in  affection's  sacred  shrine  ; 

Nor  whisper,  lest  I  should  reveal 
To  any  ear  this  name  of  mine. 

There  is  a  being  pure  and  bright 
As  the  young  bonny  flower  of  May, 

That  was  a  beam  of  golden  light 
Upon  my  dark  and  lonely  day. 

There  is  a  heart  which  mine  hath  prized 

Above  all  other  hearts  on  earth  ; 
Which  I  have  dearly  idolized 

For  all  its  sweetness,  all  its  worth, 

There  is  a  feeling  in  this  breast, 

Untired  by  time,  decay,  or  care  ; 
That  cannot,  will  not  be  suppressed* 

But  ever  glows  and  freshens  there. 


174 


$0  or. 

OF   GREENBUSH. 

"  Virtus,  recludens  immeritis  mori 
Coelum,  negata  tentat  iter  via ; 
Coetusque  vulgares,  et  udam 
Spernit  humum  fugiente  penna." 

HORACE,  Lib.  III.  Od. 

WE  were  young  when  first  we  met, 
In  our  days  of  reckless  joy, 

When  the  ore  of  life  as  yet 
Was  unmingled  with  alloy. 

Those  were  days  of  revelry, 

Such  as  never  shall  again 
Shed  their  light  on  thee  and  me  ; 

We  are  altered — we  are  men. 

And  the  strong  and  stirring  trial 
Of  the  world  awaits  us  now  ; 

Patience,  toil,  and  self-denial, 
Graver  heart,  and  sterner  brow, 

Must  be  ours ;  the  idle  dream 
Of  our  morning  tide  is  o'er  : 

Wild  romance  and  fancy's  gleam 
Must  entice  us  nevermore ! 

There  are  wreaths  that  must  be  won. 

Whatsoe'er  the  toil  or  cost ; 
There 's  a  race  that  must  be  run, 

Where  the  negligent  are  lost. 


TO    C.    G.    V.    R.  175 

But  the  prize,  the  lofty  prize 

Of  imperishable  Fame  ! 
How  it  wakes  the  energies 

To  a  warm  and  genial  flamw  ! 

How  it  glitters  from  afar, 

Proud  ambition's  cynosure ! 
Being's  best  and  brightest  star, 

In  unborrowed  glory  pure  ! 

We  will  reach  it :  hate  and  guile 

Will  beset  us,  fierce  and  long, 
Keen-eyed  envy,  fair-browed  wile, 

And  detraction's  adder-tongue. 

Nerved  and  bold  then  be  each  breast, 

As  our  aim  is  just  and  great ; 
In  affliction  not  depressed, 

Nor  in  triumph  too  elate  ; 

Self-approved  and  self-sustained, 
Let  true  honor  be  our  own  ; 
And  until  the  prize  is  gained 
Be  our  watchword  ever  "  ON." 


176 


a  I  met  thee  in  my  dreams." 

"  A  magic  voice  and  verse, 

Hath  baptized  thee  with  a  curse." — 


I  MET  thee  in  my  dreams  last  night ; 
When  troubled  fancy  brought  thy  form, 
Which  once  1  greeted  with  delight. 
The  rainbow  of  life's  angry  storm. 
It  stood  before  me  as  of  yore, 
But  lovely  and  beloved  no  more  ; 
I  did  not  feel  my  bosom  swell, 
As  erst  it  did  beneath  thy  spell ; 
Nor  did  I  kiss  thy  brow  so  fair, 
Crowned  with  its  flowing  raven  hair  : 
But  silent,  cold,  and  motionless, 
I  viewed  thy  form,  and  stood  apart, 
And  felt  in  sleep  such  iciness 
As  hardens  in  thy  waking  heart ! 

Soon  passed  the  vision  :  I  awoke 
To  chase  thine  image  from  my  breast, 
And  curse  the  uncalled  dream  which  broke 
Upon  my  hour  of  midnight  rest ; 
To  curse  the  false,  beguiling  tongue, 
To  curse  the  serpent  which  hath  stung 
A  heart,  whate'er  its  faults  may  be, 
Which  never  did  a  wrong  to  thee  : 


STANZAS.  177 

For  ail  my  hope  was  in  thy  heart. 
There  were  the  flower- wreaths  of  my  fate  : 
Those  wreaths  are  wasted  by  thine  art, 
And  canst  thou  marvel  if  I  hate  ? 

No !  let  the  fool  when  once  deceived 
Again  believe  the  heartless  one, 
Whose  wily  hand  too  well  hath  weavecl 
The  spell  by  which  he-is  undone  ; 
The  lurking  quicksands  of  the  sea 
[  trust,  ere  I  again  trust  thee  ; 
Sooner  my  heedless  hand  shall  take 
The  venomed  asp  or  adder  snake. 
Sooner  these  reckless  arms  shall  rest 
Upon  the  raging  lion's  mane, 
Than  clasp  thy  cold  and  faithless  breast 
In  love  unto  my  own  again. 


178 


BEYOND  the  wave,  beyond  the  wave, 

Beyond  the  stormy  ocean's  roar, 
Thy  form  has  found  an  early  grave, 

Thine  eye  is  closed  to  beam  no  more  ; 
The  clod  hath  fallen,  the  turf  hath  pressed 

Upon  that  lovely  collined  form  ; 
The  shroud  is  wrapped  around  thy  breast, 

With  life  and  love  no  longer  warm, 

Yet,  o'er  this  solitude  of  soul, 

Which  round  me  sheds  a  spell  malign, 
Thy  loved  remembrance  hath  control , 

And  bids  my  spirit  not  repine, 
But  firmly  bear  the  ills  that  spread 

Their  midnight  o'er  my  destiny, 
Where  once  the  light  of  hope  was  shed, 

The  rainbow  hope  which  glowed  for  thec. 

Cora  !  thou  wast  not  formed  for  earth  : 

So  bright  thy  angel  beauty  shone, 
So  rich  in  innocence  and  worth, 

That  heaven  has  claimed  thee  for  its  own. 
No  more  I  see  that  sparkling  eye 

Where  beamed  the  light  that  led  me  on  ; 
A  bright  inviting  witchery, 

Which  waked  for  me,  and  me  alone. 


TO     CORA.  179 

But  though  that  eye  hath  lost  its  ray 

Where  death  has  gathered  in  his  cloud, 
Around  thy  cold  and  lifeless  clay 

Enwreathed  within  the  funeral  shroud  ; 
Though  thou  reposest  in  the  dust, 

Thy  chord  of  frail  existence  riven, 
It  is  my  hope,  it  is  my  trust, 

Thy  soul  is  blooming  now  in  heaven. 

Aye,  thou  hast  perished !  and  the  sod 

Glows  in  its  freshness  o'er  the  scene, 
Where  on  thy  coffin  fell  the  clod, 

And  sorrow  told  that  thou  had'st  been  ; 
Nor  did  I  hear  the  last  farewell 

Which  thou  did'st  breath  to  love  and  me, 
Nor  did  I  hear  the  lonely  knell. 

Which  rung  the  requiem  over  thee  ! 

There  was  a  time  my  soul  could  burn 

With  ardour  for  the  meed  of  fame  : 
Perchance  that  season  may  return 

And  time  renew  that  wasted  flame  ; 
Wilt  thou  be  with  me  then  to  share 

The  pride  and  feeling  of  that  hour  ? 
Can  the  cold  grave  its  bosom  bare, 

Or  life  renew  its  ruined  flower  ? 

Yet  be  it  so — 'twere  wrong  to  blame 

Or  murmur  at  the  dread  decree  ; 
This  lonely  heart  must  share  the  same 

Dark  fate  which  early  blighted  thee. 


TO     CORA. 

Alas  !  thou  wast  so  fair,  so  young, 
So  beautiful  in  maiden  bloom, 

That  all  my  hopes  around  thee  hung. 
And  drooped  and  died  upon  thy  tomb  : 

Had  1  but  dreamed  in  times  long  past. 

When  gazing  on  that  cheek  so  fair. 
That  death  its  rosy  hue  should  waste, 

And  cold  destruction  riot  there  ; 
How  deeply  anguish  would  have  spread 

Her  mantle  o'er  my  pallid  brow  ! 
How  freely  would  this  heart  have  bled. 

Whose  drops  of  bliss  are  frozen  now  ! 

Yet,  Cora,  still  my  heart's  deep  .spring. 

Shall  flow  unalterably  thine. 
Ne'er  shall  I  lay  an  offering 

Upon  another  idol's  shrine  ; 
!vi  i  tombed  with  thee  still  be  that  love 

Which  to  thy  living  worth  was  given  ; 
Still  may  its  fond  remembrance  prove 

My  charm  on  earth-r-my  hope  of  heaven 


181 


(Genius  antr 


SPIRIT    OF    GENIUS. 

of  Joy  !  I  have  woo'd  thee  long 
In  the  light  of  youth  and  the  swell  of  song  : 
I  have  sought  thee  with  feelings  pure  and  high. 
With  the  soul  of  sensibility. 
I  have  strung  my  lyre,  but  all  in  vain, 
To  summon  thee  from  thy  far  domain  ; 
I  have  calPd  thee  oft  from  the  starry  sphere  — 
Spirit  of  Joy!  appear!  appear! 
Why  hath  thine  ear  been  dull  so  long 
To  the  voice  of  love  and  the  soul  of  song  ? 

SPIRIT    OP    JOV.. 

Spirit  of  Genius  !  behold  I  come 
From  the  star-bright  hall  of  my  distant  home, 
To  tell  thee,  thy  pure  and  sacred  strain 
Did  never  fall  on  my  ear  in  vain. 
[  have  been  with  thee  when  thou  knewest  me  not 
I  have  hallowed  for  thee  full  many  a  spot  ; 
Bright  isles  on  the  sea  of  memory 
Which  were  ever  blessed  and  for  aye  will  be  ; 
I  have  met  thy  glance  in  the  still  starlight  ; 
I  have  sped  to  thee  on  the  gale  of  night  ; 
And  oft  for  thee  has  my  seraph  form 
Hung  on  the  fringe  of  the  thunder-storm  : 
When  thy  swelling  heart  and  thy  spirit  proud 
Held  high  communion  with  the  cloud, 
16* 


182  GENIUS     AND     JOY. 

When  thy  pinion  spread  in  the  troubled  air. 

All  giorious  spirit !  I  met  thee  there  ! 

Did  not  the  pride  of  thy  bosom  spring 

When  thou  heard'st  the  rushing  of  my  wingr 

And  together  we  wandered  far  and  free 

Through  the  regions  of  sublimity  ? 

Hast  thou  not  seen  me  in  the  glow 

And  the  golden  pride  of  the  bended  bow. 

Which  bids  the  angel  of  ruin  cease, 

And  gladdens  earth  with  the  sign  of  peace  ? 

Hast  thou  not  heard  my  matin  lay 

To  the  glorious  God  of  the  new-born  day  ? 

Hast  thou  not  heard  my  evening  hymn, 

When  his  western  light  waxed  faint  and  dim 

Hast  thou  not  met  me  in  summer's  bower. 

Culling  the  rose  and  the  lily  flower  ? 

In  winter's  stern  and  stormy  night, 

In  spring's  fair  smile  of  young  delight, 

In  the  yellow  leaves  of  the  autumn  wood 

Mid  the  calm  of  sacred  solitude  ; 

In  all  these  scenes  of  luxury, 

Spirit !  have  I  not  been  with  thee  ? 

SPIRIT    OF    GENIUS. 

Yet,  wherefore  have  I  not  met  thee,  then? 
In  the  walks  of  life  and  the  haunts  of  men  t 
Is  it  the  doom  of  my  wayward  fate 
To  find  thee  in  things  inanimate  ? 
Can  the  soul's  proud  immortality 
Hold  no  fond  fellowship  with  thee  ? 
Why  find  I  not  in  the  human  breast 
Thy  thrill  divine  and  thy  presence  blest  ? 


GRNIUS     AND     JOY. 
SPIRIT    OF   JOY. 

Spirit !  because  thou  bast  not  sought ; 

Thou  wilt  find  me  in  hearts  with  feeling  fraught 

In  the  light  of  lovely  woman's  eye,    . 

In  her  bosom's  fond  sincerity ; 

In  the  smile  that  steals  thy  soul  away, 

And  the  silvery  softness  of  her  lay ; 

But  more  than  all,  and  all  else  above, 

In  the  charm  of  her  warm  devoted  love  ! 

Thou  wilt  find  me,  too,  in  that  lofty  hour 

Where  man  bows  down  to  thy  mighty  power. 

And  yields  his  passions  all  resigned 

To  thee,  proud  master  of  his  mind  ! 

Spirit !  when  time  hath  that  moment  brought. 

Then  search  thy  secret  and  inmost  thought  : 

And  thou  shalt  own  exultingly 

That  the  Spirit  of  Joy  doth  dwell  with  thee  ' 


184 


JUgftfc 

JT  is  the  hour  which  calls  to  mind 

The  hopes,  the  joys  that  once  were  ours. 
When  life  was  buoyant,  fresh,  and  kind, 

And  fortune  deck'd  her  brow  with  flowers. 
*Tis  then  the  wanderer's  fancy  roves, 

Unbridled  in  its  rapid  flight, 
To  the  far  distant  home  he  loves, 

Spot  of  his  youth's  heart-felt  delight ; 
And  wishes,  and  yet  dreads,  to  know 

If  all  is  still  unclouded  there  ; 
Nor  startled  by  the  voice  of  wo> 

Nor  the  low  meanings  of  despair. 
The  father,  guardian  of  his  youth, 

His  firmest  friend  beneath  the  sun, 
Who  taught  him  that  the  way  of  truth 

And  lasting  happiness  are  one  ; 
The  mother,  on  whose  tender  breast 

In  infancy's  fond  hour  he  hung, 
Who  watch'd  above  his  cradled  rest, 

And  ever  as  she  watched,  she  sung ; 
And  she,  in  whose  attentive  ear 

He  whisper'd  all  his  boyhood's  schemes. 
The  sister  of  his  heart,  more  dear 

Than  fancy's  gayest,  fairest  dreams  ; 
Oh !  are  they  still  in  happiness  ? 

Is  not  their  hearth-fire  faint  and  dim  .' 
Are  they  unwakened  to  distress, 

And  do  they  often  think  of  him  ? 


NIGHT.  185 

Has  time  bent  down  that  father's  form, 

And  blanched  his  head  with  silver  gray  '!• 
Or  is  his  heart  no  longer  warm, 

But  mouldering  in  the  house  of  clay  ? 
That  mother,  and  that  sister  bland, 

Prom  his  embrace  are  far  away ; 
He  withers  in  a  foreign  land, 

And  those  loved  beings — where  are  they  .' 
Calm  night !  thine  is  the  pensive  dream 

That  hovers  lightly  o'er  the  brain, 
When  former  hopes  and  blessings  seem 

To  blossom  in  the  world  again. 
Affection's  clasp,  the  kiss  of  truth, 

The  love- wreath  in  its  morning  bloom. 
The  glow  of  fond,  undoubting  youth, 

Ere  conscious  of  its  bitter  doom, — 
All  the  past  scenes  of  faded  years 

In  quick  array  come  sweeping  on  : 
The  wishes  vain,  the  smiles,  the  tears* 

So  sweetly  shed,  so  quickly  gone  ! 
Then  pass  along  in  sad  review, — 

The  forms  that  long  ago  were  seen. 
Before  the  death-cloud  darkly  flew, 

Before  life  lost  her  smiling  mien. 
They  come,  they  come !  a  mournful  crowd. 

Whose  home  is  in  the  lonely  grave  ; 
Whom  time  has  covered  with  his  shroud, 

And  swept  in  dark  oblivion's  wave ! 
Stern  Time  !  that  blights  the  flowery  scene 

Of  man's  new-born,  delightful  spring ; 
Nor  leaves  a  trace  of  what  hath  been. 

To  cheer  the  night  of  sorrowing. 


186  STANZAS. 

O'er  all  that  nature  can  impart 
To  charm,  inspire,  or  soothe  the  breas 

O'er  each  emotion  of  the  heart 

Which  he  hath  coldly  hush'd  to  rest. 


-•  Tis  o'er ;  the  only  tie  which  bound." 

Tis  o'er  ;  the  only  tie  which  bound 

My  heart  to  life  is  rent  in  twain : 
"Tis  o'er  ;  and  I  too  soon  have  found 

My  life  hath  been,  must  be  in  vain  : 
My  cheek  with  agony  is  flushed, 

My  sands  of  life  are  running  low  ; 
Every  fair  germ  of  hope  is  crushed, 

And  thine  the  hand  that  gave  the  blow 

Yet  deem  not  that  I  curse  thee  now, 

Though  thou  hast  wrapped  my  day  in  ill. 
And  scattered  anguish  on  my  brow, 

I  love  thee  and  I  bless  thee  still ; 
For  thou  hast  ever  been  to  me 

The  idol  of  my  earthly  heaven, 
And  ere  1  cease  for  aye  to  be, 

'Tis  meet  that  thou  should'st  be  forgiven. 


STANZAS.  187 

1  have  not  wept,  I  have  not  sighed 

Above  my  being's  lonely  wreck  ; 
It  is  not  hate,  it  is  not  pride, 

That  serves  the  sigh,  the  tear  to  check  : 
It  is  that  quiet  calm  despair 

Which  hath  no  voice  its  wo  to  tell ; 
Which  broods  upon  my  breast,  and  there 

Mutters  its  dark  and  secret  spell ; 

And  gnaws  upon  my  bosom's  core, 

Its  writhing  and  its  helpless  prey  ; 
For  I,  alas  !   have  lost  the  power 

To  drive  the  ravenous  fiend  away. 
With  feelings  wrung  and  paralyzed, 

With  spirit  broken  and  unstrung, 
I  touch  the  lyre  which  once  I  prized, 

And  sing,  but  not  as  once  I  sung. 

The  strain  is  now  forlorn  and  wild, 

The  music  of  a  broken  heart  j 
It  tells  of  hopes  which  have  beguiled, 

Of  ties  which  have  been  torn  apart ; 
It  breathes -the  dirge  of  happiness, 

Of  wishes  that  were  framed  in  vain  ; 
'  It  breathes  of  unalloyed  distress, 

The  scorching  fever  of  the  brain. 

'Twere  something  yet,  could  I  but  twine 
Some  few  and  frail  autumnal  flowers 

Round  Feeling's  desolated  shrine, 
Memorials  of  happier  hours. 


188  STANZAS. 

But  I  had  placed  my  all  on  earth 
On  the  fond  hopes  thy  spirit  gave  ; 

And  life  hath  nothing  left  of  worth, 
No  charm  to  wean  me  from  the  grave 

No  more,  no  more  on  me  can  fall 

The  freshness  of  affection's  dew  ; 
Thought,  fancy,  feeling,  fervor,  all 

Are  scathed,  and  cannot  bloom  anew. 
Tho'  grief  at  times  withdraws  her  dart. 

'Tis  not  to  give  my  sorrows  rest ; 
The  gloomier  madness  of  the  heart 

Then  fiercely  knocks  upon  my  breast. 

And  now,  farewell !  and  be  thy  day 

Aye  burnished  by  the  summer  sun  : 
Fair  be  the  blossoms  on  thy  way, 

Thou  best  beloved  and  lovely  one  I 
The  memory  of  what  hath  been 

Doth  every  angry  thought  disarm. 
And  I  should  feel  it  were  a  sin 

To  work  thy  gentle  spirit  harm  ! 


189 


*'AIR  Freedom!  thou  art  man's  best  benison  given 
The  birth-right  of  earth  and  the  blessing  of  heaven  : 
Let  tyranny  still  wield  his  blood-spotted  sword, 
Let  his  fury  upon  thee  be  ruthlessly  poured  ; 
Yet  the  hour  is  fast  dawning,  the  glorious  houry 
When  thou  shalt  awaken  resistless  in  power  ; 
When  thy  sons  in  hot  haste  to  the  battle  shall  speed. 
For  thee  as  their  boon,  or  for  death  as  their  meed. 
Then  when  thy  fair  standard  is  widely  unfurled, 
And  shines  like  the  day-star  which  beacons  the  world 
When  Battle  shall  utter  his  shout  of  alarm, 
When  Carnage  shall  revel,  and  Death  lift  his  arm  : 
Then  shall  nation  with  nation  in  union  combine, 
And  press  in  hot  rage  to  the  numberless  line  ; 
To  fight  for  the  cause  that  is  sacred  to  man, 
And  dash  in  wild  uproar  to  lead  in  the  van. 
Then  the  shackles  of  tyrants  in  ruin  shall  fall, 
And  the  earth  be  released  from  inglorious  thrall  ; 
Then  the  voice  of  mankind  shall  ascend  in  acclaim, 
And  the  watchword  of  nations  be  WASHINGTON'S 

name. 

Then  when  thy  proud  standard  expands  to  the  sky. 
And  thy  sons  rally  round  it  to  conquer  or  die  ; 
Then  on  the  high  Andes  that  banner  shall  wave. 
And  golden  Peru  burst  the  chains  of  the  slave  ; 
Break  the  iron  that  rives,  and  the  bands  that  restrain. 
nd  her  Incas  preside  in  their  splendour  again. 


390  AVATAR     OF     FREEDOM. 

Then,  Helvetia,  the  thunders  of  warfare  shall  swell 
On  thy  glaciers  that  witnessed  the  exploits  of  Tell ; 
Then  on  proud  Underwalden  shall  beam  such  a  day 
As  shone  on  Morgarthen  and  Sempach's  affray. 
Then,  Sarmatia,  thy  sun  shall  break  forth  from  the  cloud. 
And  thy  chiefs  in  high  hope  to  the  conflict  shall  crowd  : 
Some  new  Kosciusko  thy  right  shall  maintain, 
Some  Pulaski  shall  lead  thy  bold  heroes  again  ; 
They  shall  sweep  like  the  Siroc  to  waste  and  destroy. 
And  the  Vistula  roll  his  free  waters  in  joy  ! 
Theny  Africa,  then  shall  new  liberty  reign 
On  Joliba's  banks  and  on  Nubia's  plain  : 
Fated  Africa,  ages  have  vanished  away 
Since  thy  long  line  of  Ptolemies  fell  to  decay  ; 
Since  Amilcar  and  Annibal  slumbered  in  fame, 
And  thy  once  boasted  Carthage  is  now  but  a  name. 
Thine  Egypt,  where  art  and  where  science  first  grew. 
Where  the  pyramids  towered  aloft  on  the  view  ; 
Where  earth  wore  creation's  most  exquisite  smile, 
Upon  the  fair  banks  of  the  bountiful  Nile  ; 
Where  the  hundred-porched  Thebes  in  its  loftiness  shone, 
And  power  and  elegance  marked  her  their  own. — 
Oil,  long  had  their  glory  been  but  as  a  dream, 
As  a  meteor  of  midnight  that  dies  on  the  stream  ; 
And  long  the  descendants  of  Hanno  the  brave, 
Have  bent  'neath  the  load  that  o'erburthens  the  slave. 
Oh  Africa  !  when  the  dread  mandate  of  heaven 
Shall  proclaim  to  the  world  that  thy  bondage  is  riven. 
When  the  malison  rolls  from  Eternity's  breath, 
And  thy  battle-song  breathes  stern  defiance  and  death  : 

''   j   :'/- 


TIME.  191 

When  thy  phalanx  unshrinking,  thy  daring  array, 
Shall  rush  like  the  tempests  which  darken  the  day  ; 
Let  oppression  then  tremble,  let  tyranny  quake, 
For  the  spirit  of  deep  retribution  shall  wake ; 
Let  thejm  shrink  when  the  bolts  of  thy  vengeance  are 

hurled, 
To  punish  a  guilty  and  barbarous  world  1 


I  SAW  him  hastening  on  his  way, 

And  marked  his  lightning  flight ; 
Where'er  he  moved,  there  stern  decav 

Spread  its  destructive  blight. 
Rapid  the  gloomy  phantom  hied, 

Enveloped  in  the  storm  ; 
His  eye  shone  out  in  sullen  pride, 

And  fearful  was  his  form. 

I  saw  him  grasp  the  warrior's  wreath, 

Won  in  the  gory  fray  ; 
The  laurel  withering  sunk  in  death, 

Its  beauty  fled  away  : 
That  wreath  was  stained  with  bloody  dew. 

Unhallowed  was  its  bloom  ; 
ft  met  the  phantom's  chilling  view. 

And  bowed  beneath  its  doom,. 


9S  TIME. 

I  saw  him  pass  by  beauty's  bower. 
;  And  listen  to  her  lay  ; 
Around  the  spot  was  many  a  flower. 

Blooming  its  summer  day  : 
With  icy  heart  the  spectre  came, 

Her  lovely  form  compressed  ; 
She  met  his  lurid  eye  of  flame, — 

The  tomb-stone  tells  the  rest. 

On  youth's  warm  brow  his  hand  he  prest, 

'Twas  cold  as  mouldering  clay  ; 
He  laid  his  arm  on  manhood's  breast. 

The  life -pulse  ceased  to  play. 
His  fell  siroc  o'er  nature  past, 

And  low  she  drooped  her  head  ; 
Her  blossoms  withered  in  the  blast, 

And  all  her  verdure  fled. 


tlir  Hgtng 


THOU  desolate  and  dying  year  1 

Emblem  of  transitory  man, 
Whose  wearisome  and  wild  career 

Like  thine  is  bounded  to  a  span  : 
It  seems  but  as  a  little  day 

Since  nature  smiled  upon  thy  birth. 
And  Spring  came  forth  in  fair  array, 

To  dance  upon  the  joyous  earth. 

Sad  alteration  !  now  how  lone, 

How  verdureless  is  nature's  breast: 
Where  ruin  makes  his  empire  known, 

In  Autumn's  yellow  vesture  drest  ; 
The  sprightly  bird,  whose  carol  sweet 

Broke  on  the  breath  of  early  day, 
The  summer  flowers  she  loved  to  greet  ; 

The  bird,  the  flowers,  Oh  !  where  are  they  ' 

Thou  desolate  and  dying  year  ! 

Yet  lovely  in  thy  lifelessness 
As  beauty  stretched  upon  the  bier, 

In  death's  clay  cold,  and  dark  caress  ; 
There's  loveliness  in  thy  decay, 

Which  breathes,  which  lingers  on  thee  still, 
Like  memory's  mild  and  cheering  ray 

Beaming  upon  the  night  of  ill* 
17* 


MM-  DYING    TEA:R. 

Yet,  yet,  the  radiance  is  not  gone, 

Which  shed  a  richness  o'er  the  scene. 
Which  smiled  upon  the  golden  dawn, 

When  skies  were  brilliant  and  serene  • 
Oh !  still  a  melancholy  smile 

Gleams  upon  Nature's  aspect  fair, 
To  charm  the  eye  a  little  while, 

Ere  ruin  spreads  his  mantle  there  ! 

Thou  desolate  and  dying  year ! 

Since  time  entwined  thy  vernal  wreath. 
How  often  love  hath  shed  the  tear, 

And  knelt  beside  the  bed  of  death  : 
How  many  hearts  that  lightly  sprung 

When  joy  was  blooming  but  to  die, 
Their  finest  chords  by  death  unstrung. 

Have  yielded  life's  expiring  sigh. 

And  pillowed  low  beneath  the  clay. 

Have  ceased  to  melt,  to  breathe,  to  burn 
The  proud,  the  gentle,  and  the  gay, 

Gathered  unto  the  mouldering  urn  ; 
While  freshly  flowed  the  frequent  tear 

For  love  bereft,  affection  fled  ; 
For  all  that  were  our  blessings  here. 

The  loved,  the  lost,  the  sainted  dead  \ 

Thou  desolate  and  dying  year ! 

The  musing  spirit  finds  in  thee 
Lessons,  impressive  and  serene, 

Of  deep  and  stern  morality  ; 


IXTIKG    YEAR. 

Thou  teachest  how  the  germ  of  youth, 
Which  blooms  in  being's  dawning  day. 

Planted  by  nature,  reared  by  truth. 
Withers  like  thee  in  dark  decay. 

Promise  of  youth  !  fair  as  the  form 

Of  Heaven's  benign  and  golden  bow. 
Thy  smiling  arch  begirds  the  storm, 

And  sheds  a  light  on  every  wo  ; 
Hope  wakes  for  thee,  and  to  her  tongue, 

A  tone  of  melody  is  given, 
As  if  her  magic  voice  were  strung 

With  the  empyreal  fire  of  Heaven. 

And  love  which  never  can  expire- 

Whose  origin  is  from  on  high, 
Throws  o'er  thy  morn  a  ray  of  fire, 

From  the  pure  fountains  of  the  sky  ; 
That  ray  which  glows  and  brightens  still 

Unchanged,  eternal  and  divine  ; 
Where  seraphs  own  its  holy  thrill, 

And  bow  before  its  gleaming  shrine. 

Thou  desolate  and  dying  year  ! 

Prophetic  of  our  final  fall ; 
Thy  buds  are  gone,  thy  leaves  are  sear. 

Thy  beauties  shrouded  in  the  pall  ; 
And  all  the  garniture  that  shed, 

A  brilliancy  upon  thy  prime, 
Hath  like  a  morning  vision  fled 

Unto  the  expanded  grave  of  time. 


196  DTIKG    YEAR. 

Time !  Time  !  in  thy  triumphal  flight 

How  all  life's  phantoms  fleet  away  ; 
The  smile  of  hope,  and  young  delight, 

Fame's  meteor  beam,  and  Fancy's  ray  : 
They  fade  ;  and  on  thy  heaving  tide, 

Rolling  its  stormy  waves  afar, 
Are  borne  the  wreck  of  human  pride, 

The  broken  wrecks  of  Fortune's  war, 

There  in  disorder,  dark  and  wild, 

Are  seen  the  fabricks  once  so  high  ; 
Which  mortal  vanity  had  piled 

As  emblems  of  eternity  I 
And  deemed  the  stately  piles,  whose  form? 

Frowned  in  their  majesty  sublime, 
Would  stand  unshaken  by  the  storms 

That  gathered  round  the  brow  of  Time-. 

Thou  desolate  and  dying  year  ! 

Earth's  brightest  pleasures  fade  like  thine 
Like  evening  shadows  disappear, 

And  leave  the  spirit  to  repine. 
The  stream  of  life  that  used  to  pour 

Its  fresh  and  sparkling  waters  on. 
While  Fate  stood  watching  on  the  shore. 

And  numbered  all  the  moments  gone  : — 

Where  hath  the  morning  splendour  flown. 
Which  danced  upon  that  crystal  stream  1 

Where  are  the  joys  to  childhood  known, 
When  life  was  an  enchanted  dream  ? 


DYING    TEAR. 

Enveloped  in  the  starless  night, 
Which  destiny  hath  overspread ; 

Enrolled  upon  that  trackless  flight 
Where  the  death  wing  of  time  hath  sped ! 

Oh  !  thus  hath  life  its  even-tide 

Of  sorrow,  loneliness,  and  grief; 
And  thus  divested  of  its  pride, 

It  withers  like  the  yellow  leaf: 
Oh !  such  is  life's  autumnal  bower, 

When  plundered  of  its  summer  bloom  ; 
And  such  is  life's  autumnal  hour, 

Which  heralds  man  unto  the  tomb  ! 


198 


HE  rests  beneath  the  clay, 

The  deed  of  darkness  done ; 
His  soul  hath  passed  away, 

Its  hour  of  trial  gone  : 
His  eye  is  glazed  and  dim ; 

And  where  his  relics  lie, 
There  flows  no  requiem, 

There  echoes  not  a  sigh. 

He  roam'd  this  weary  earth 

In  solitude  and  wo  ; 
And  every  spring  of  mirth 

For  him  had  ceased  to  flow  : 
He  found  no  hand  to  press, 

No  heart  to  prize  his  own. 
And  bore  his  deep  distress 

Unfriended  and  alone. 

In  the  fair  blush  of  day, 

And  in  the  still  midnight, 
He  paced  his  joyless  way, 

A  solitary  blight : 
In  sunshine  and  in  storm, 

His  heart  was  still  the  same  ; 
A  victim  to  the  worm, 

A  shrine  of  wasting  flame ! 


3ELF-MURDEIIER.  199 

And  memory's  gloomy  pall 

Hung  o'er  his  faded  bliss  ; 
Lost  wretch !  he  could  not  call 

One  lonely  pleasure  his  : 
Till  madness,  dark  and  cold, . 

Came  on  to  close  the  scene  ; 
And  aye  his  anthem  roll'd 

O'er  joys  that  once  had  been.     . 

Bright  was  heaven's  golden  glow, 

The  earth  in  flowers  was  dressed, 
As  if  to  mock  the  wo, 

Which  brooded  in  his  breast ; 
He  gazed  upon  the  sky, 

Upon  the  smiling  sun  ; 
Red  glared  his  steel  on  high, 

He  struck !  the  deed  was  done ! 

The  struggle  now  is  hushed, 

Its  fearful  writhings  o'er  ; 
His  cheek  shall  now  be  flashed 

With  agony  no  more  : 
That  phrenzied  spirit  sleeps 

Within  a  deeper  gloom, 
And  dark  oblivion  keeps 

Her  vigil  o'er  his  tomb  ! 


soo 


•-•••  And  what  than  friendship's  manly  tear 
May  better  grace  a  brother's  bier?"—  BYRO«. 

COLD  in  the  grave  !  and  can  it  be, 
While  yet  the  leaf  of  life  is  green, 

That  the  dark  spoiler  blasts  the  tree, 
And  scatters  ruin  o'er  the  scene  ? 


He  cometh  late,  he  cometh  soon, 

He  lurketh  in  the  morning  prime  : 
He  lurketh  in  the  beam  of  noon, 

And  in  the  shade  of  evening  time. 

And  early  hath  he  brought  thee  low, 
Friend  of  my  boyhood's  frolic  years  ; 

Companion  of  my  weal  or  wo, 

In  days  remembered  now  with  tears. 

High  hopes  were  thine,  bright  dreams  were  thine. 

And  rainbow  thoughts  of  coming  hours  : 
And  love  looked  on  with  eyes  benign, 

And  wove  for  thee  a  crown  of  flowers. 

That  crown  enwreathed  thy  smiling  brow 

I  saw  it  there  but  yesterday 
In  brightness  and  in  beauty  !  now 

It  lieth  wasted  in  decay. 


AN     ELEGY. 

Sadder  and  darker  now  the  wreath, 
Woven  by  thy  untimely  doom  ; 

It  is  the  coronal  of  death  ; 
It  is  the  chaplet  of  the  tomb ! 

High-souled,  and  noble-hearted  man, 
I  loved  thee,  and  I  well  may  mourn 

Over  the  shortness  of  thy  span, 

And  o'er  thy  hopes  thus  early  shorn. 

For  we  were  linked  in  unison 

By  many  an  unforgotten  tie, 
When  life  was  fair,  and  ere  the  sun 

Of  happiness  had  left  my  sky. 

Together  did  our  bosoms  beat, 

And  plans  of  future  pleasure  form  ; 

And  pledge  in  after  years  to  meet, 

In  this  cold  world,  with  hearts  still  warm 

Together  did  our  souls  unite, 

And  coming  joy  was  aye  our  theme  : 

Oh  !  for  those  visions  of  delight, 

Oh  !  for  our  boyhood's  broken  dream  ' 

A  deep  mysterious  destiny 

Dashed  long  ago  my  joys  to  dust ; 

But  fate  was  kinder  far  to  thee, 
And  bade  thee  in  the  future  trust, 

18 


AN    ELEG.Y. 

Thy  manhood  met  upon  the  earth 

With  joys,  while  mine  did  meet  with  none 

To  thee  life  was  a  thing  of  worth  ; 
Yet  I  am  left,  and  thou  art  gone ! 

Friend  of  my  primal  hours,  farewell ! 

Whate'er  my  chequered  life  may  bo, 
The  memory  of  my  heart  shall  dwell 

Kindly  and  mournfully  with  thee ! 

Thou  hadst  thy  faults,  but  let  them  rest 
Where  rests  thy  cold  and  faded  brow  ; 

And  cursed  be  the  unfeeling  breast, 

Which  harbors  aught  against  thee  now  ! 


205 


WHEN  the  bloom  of  thy  cheek  shall  have  faded  away, 
And  death's  gloomy  impress  shall  darken  thy  brow  ; 

When  that  love-lighted  heart  shall  be  cold  as  the  clay, 
And  that  eye  lose  the  lightning  which  plays  from  it 
now : — 

O  !  think  not  that  when  thou  art  pillowed  in  earth, 
And  thy  soul  to  the  bowers  of  bliss  shall  have  fled  ; 

That  remembrance  less  fondly  will  dwell  on  thy  worth, 
When  the  green  grass  shall  flourish  and  wave  o*er 
thy  head. 

There  is  a  dark  pall  which  affection  must  spread 
O'er  the  young  and  the  lovely  reclined  on  the  bier. 

When  the  dreams  of  enjoyment  and  fancy  have  fled, 
And  life's  gay  illusions  no  more  can  appear. 

Yet  believe — believe  not,  this  heart  can  forget 
The  smile  and  the  form  I  no  longer  can  see  ; 

Believe  not  it  ever  can  cease  to  regret 

The  charms  which  my  spirit  hath  painted  in  thce. 

Then  while  others  the  monument  vainly  may  rear, 
Adorning  thy  tomb  with  the  trophies  of  art ; 

I'll  think  of  thy  beauty,  thy  worth,  with  a  tear. 
And  hallow  thy  memory  deep  in  my  heart. 


204  STREAM      OF      HOPE. 

Let  others  with  flowers  embellish  thy  grave  ; — 
They  pine  and  they  wither  away  on  the  stem  ; 

And  the  hands  that  from  stealing  decay  cannot  save 
Thy  form,  cannot  banish  dark  ruin  from  them. 

I'll  cherish  thy  name  with  no  splendor  of  wo  ; 

No  flowers  on  thy  grave  shall  be  planted  by  me  : 
But  while  the  life  pulse  in  this  bosom  shall  flow, 

Each  thought  of  affection  shall  linger  with  thee. 


Stream  oC 


IN  spring  it  murmured  sweetly, 

And  sparkled  bright  and  fair, 
Its  waters  rippled  sweetly, 

As  breathed  the  balmy  air  ; 
The  sun-beam  gilt  with  brightness, 

Its  wave  of  placid  blue, 
And  heaven's  clouds  of  whiteness., 

Their  shadows  o'er  it  threw. 

Soon  came  the  summer  hour, 

With  all  its  blooming  pride  ; 
Then  flourished  many  a  flower 

Along  the  shining  tide  : 
Ah  !  then  decay  was  nearest. 

When  all  was  brightly  gay. 
For  joys  the  best,  the  dearest. 

Are  first  to  fade  away. 


STREAM     OF     HOPE. 

For  autumn's  day  of  sorrow 

Came  sadly  moving  on ; 
And  on  that  gloomy  morrow 

We  looked, — the  flowers  were  gone 
All  gone,  the  buds  we  cherished, 

When  youth  and  love  were  new  ; 
And  even  the  stems  had  perished 

On  which  the  blossoms  grew ! 

And  winter  brooded  over, 

Wrapped  in  a  stormy  cloud  ; 
He  came  in  wrath  to  cover 

Creation  with  his  shroud  : 
No  more  the  wind  in  mildness 

Blew  o'er  hope's  gentle  rill ; 
The  tempest  swept  in  wildness, 

The  frozen  stream  was  still  \ 


LAND  of  the  brave  !  where  lie  inurned 

The  shrouded  forms  of  mortal  clay. 
In  whom  the  fire  of  valour  burned, 

And  blazed  upon  the  battle's  fray ; 
Land  where  the  gallant  Spartan  few 

Bled  at  Themopylae  of  yore, 
When  death  his  purple  garment  threw 

On  Hellas'  consecrated  shore  1 

Land  of  the  Muse  !  within  thy  bowers 

Her  soul  entrancing  echoes  rung, 
While  on  their  course  the  rapid  hours 

Paused  at  the  melody  she  sung  ; 
Till  every  grove  and  every  hill, 

And  every  stream  that  flowed  along, 
From  morn  to  night  repeated  still 

The  winning  harmony  of  song. 

Land  of  dead  heroes,  living  slaves  I 

Shalt  glory  gild  thy  clime  no  more  :, 
Her  banner  float  above  thy  waves 

Where  proudly  it  hath  slept  before  ? 
Hath  not  remembrance  then  a  charm 

To  break  the  fetter  and  the  chain  ; 
To  bid  thy  children  nerve  the  arm, 

And  strike  for  freedom  once  again  ? 


GREECE.  207 

No  !  Coward  souls  ;  the  light  which  shone 

On  Leuctra's  war-empurpled  day  ; 
The  light  which  beamed  on  Marathon 

Hath  lost  its  splendour,  ceased  to  play  . 
And  thou  art  but  a  shadow  now. 

With  helmet  shattered,  spear  in  rust ; 
Thy  honor  but  a  dream,  and  thou 

Despised,  degraded,  in  the  dust ! 

Where  sleeps  the  spirit  that  of  old 

Dashed  down  to  earth  the  Persian  plume  ; 
When  the  loud  chant  of  triumph  told, 

How  fatal  was  the  despot's  doom  ? 
The  bold  three  hundred,  where  are  they, 

Who  died  on  battle's  gory  breast  ? 
Tyrants  have  trampled  on  the  clay, 

Where  death  has  hushed  them  into  rest. 

Yet,  Ida,  yet  upon  thy  hill, 

A  glory  shines  of  ages  fled  ; 
And  fame  her  light  is  pouring  still, 

Not  on  the  living,  but  the  dead ! 
But  'tis  the  dim  sepulchral  light 

Which  sheds  a  faint  and  feeble  ray, 
As  moon-beams  on  the  brow  of  night, 

When  tempests  sweep  upon  their  way. 

Greece  !  yet  awake  thee  from  thy  trance ;. 

Behold  thy  banner  waves  afar  ; 
Behold  the  glittering  weapons  glance 

Along  the  gleaming  front  of  war  5 


208  GREECE. 

A  gallant  chief  of  high  emprize* 
Is  urging  foremost  in  the  field. 

Who  calls  upon  thee  to  arise 
In  might,  in  majesty  reveal' d. 

In  vain,  in  vain  the  hero  calls  ; 

In  vain  he  sounds  the  trumpet  loud  : 
His  banner  totters  ;  see,  it  falls 

In  ruin,  freedom's  battle  shroud  : 
Thy  children  have  no  soul  to  dare 

Such  deeds  as  glorified  their  sires  ; 
Their  valour  s  but  a  meteor's  glare, 

Which  gleams  a  moment  and  expires. 

Lost  land  !  where  Genius  made  his  reign, 

And  reared  his  golden  arch  on  high  ;. 
Where  science  raised  her  sacred  fane. 

Its  summit  peering  to  the  sky  ; 
Upon  thy  clime  the  midnight  deep 

Of  ignorance  hath  brooded  long  : 
And  in  the  tomb,  forgotten,  sleep 

The  sons  of  science  and  of  song. 

Thy  sun  hath  set,  the  evening  storm 
Hath  passed  in  giant  fury  by, 

To  blast  the  beauty  of  thy  form, 
And  spread  its  pall  upon  thy  sky : 

*  Ypsilanti 


GREECE.  20$ 

Gone  is  thy  glory's  diadem, 
And  freedom  never  more  shall  cease 

To  pour  her  mournful  requiem 

O'er  blighted,  lost,  degraded  Greece  ! 


Note. — The  prospects  of  Greece  have  changed  since  the  fore 
going  lines  were  written  (1821).  The  protecting  lily  of 
France  is  now  waving  over  the  liberated  Greeks ;  may  they 
make  a  good  use  of  their  freedom  ! 


210 


WRITTEN    AFTER    VIEWING    THE    CORPSE    OF    MISS    V 

IN  the  pride  and  glory  of  youthful  spring, 
Thy  lamp  of  life  hath  perished  ; 
Decay  hath  waved  his  raven  wing 
O'er  the  rose  which  beauty  cherished  ; 
Light  was  thy  step  life's  path  along, 
In  maiden  bloom,  arid  joy,  and  song ; 
How  soon  o'er  thy  pathway  death  hath  driven, 
And  borne  thee  away  in  his  arms  to  heaven  ! 

No  more  shall  thy  footstep  lightly  tread 

O'er  the  hill,  when  morning  blushes  ; 

Nor  thy  voice  its  winning  music  shed 

Where  the  clear  blue  fountain  gushes  : 

The  stream  shall  roll  in  gladness  on, 

Though  the  flower  that  graced  its  banks  is  gone  ; 

And  the  dawn  shall  blush,  but  never  shine 

Again  on  a  fairer  form  than  thine. 

No  more,  when  the  summer  moon  beams  full. 
And  the  summer  stars  are  shining, 
Shall  thy  gentle  hand  the  lily  cull, 
Its  wreaths  with  thy  tresses  twining  ; 
No  more  shalt  thou  cull  the  violet  blue, 
When  its  leaves  are  wet  with  evening  dew  ? 
Now,  there  is  the  cold  and  icy 
Instead  of  love'*  gay  coronal ! 


LINES. 

Where  now  is  the  light  of  that  radiant  eye  ? 
In  oblivion  darkly  clouded  ; 
Where  now  is  that  cheek  of  rosy  dye  ? 
In  the  winding  sheet  enshrouded  ; 
The  germ  which  late  in  beauty  sprung, 
O'er  which  affection  fondly  hung  ; 
Oh  !   whither  hath  all  that  beauty  fled  ? 
The  stem  is  broken,  the  germ  is  dead! 

I  saw  thy  mother  bend  o'er  thy  bier, 

While  her  eye  glanced  up  to  heaven  ; 

I  heard  no  sob,  I  saw  no  tear 

Bedew  the  shroud  of  her  daughter  dear  ; 

But  her  inmost  heart  was  riven ! 

Yea,  hers  was  that  still  agony, 

Which  works  unseen  and  silently  ; 

Which  flows  in  anguish  deep  and  still, 

Like  the  stream  beneath  an  ice-crowned  rill. 

Better  it  were  that  she  should  wail  ; 
That  her  grief  aloud  were  snoken  ; 
This  noiseless  sorrow  tells  the  tale 
Of  heart-strings  rent  and  broken  : 
Better  it  were  that  tears  should  start 
From  the  full  eye,  than  bathe  the  heart ; 
For  the  gathered  tears  that  are  not  shed, 
Are  tokens  true  that  hope  is  dead. 

The  branch  hath  died,  and  the  tree  remains, 
The  stem  survives  its  flower  ; 
Thus  many  a  blossom  this  earth  contains, 
Meets  early  the  blighting  hour  ; 


!212  LINES. 

Thy  morning  sky  hath  an  early  cloud, 
Thy  beauty  is  wreathed  in  an  early  shroud  : 
The  light  and  love  of  thy  days  are  o'er, 
But  grief  shall  veil  thy  brow  no  more. 

Farewell !  thou  art  gone  in  thy  primal  hour 
In  thy  sweetness  of  youthful  blossom, 
Ere  sin  could  sully  thy  maiden  flower, 
Or  pollute  thy  guileless  bosom  ; 
And  freshly  the  myrtle  boughs  shall  wave 
Above  thy  form  and  around  thy  grave, 
And  the  willow  branches  bend  in  air, 
For  affection's  hand  shall  plant  them  there. 

Farewell !  no  longer  to  gem  thy  way 
Shall  the  light  of  love  be  glowing, 
As  late  it  glowed  like  the  star  of  day, 
When  the  fount  of  life  was  flowing ! 
The  noon-tide  blaze,  the  star-lit  scene, 
The  summer  buds,  and  the  autumn's  sheen. 
Shall  come  and  pass,  and  still  return, 
But  wake  not  thee  from  thy  tranquil  urn. 

But  when  the  zephyrs  of  eve  shall  kiss 

The  fleecy  clouds  of  heaven  ; 

When  the  stars  shall  gem  the  vault  of  bliss. 

The  deep  blue  arch  of  even ; 

Then  fancy  soaring  on  wings  of  love 

Shall  look  for  thee  in  the  realms  above. 

A  spirit  of  that  immortal  shore 

Where  pain  can  wring  thee  nevermore  ! 


213 


THERE  is  a  grief  which  doth  not  wring 

The  bosom  with  a  single  sigh, 
That  doth  not  shade  the  brow,  nor  brin^ 

The  moisture  from  the  heavy  eye  ; 
But  lives  where  men  cannot  intrude  : 

Of  human  things,  a  thing  apart, 
In  the  deep  bosom's  solitude, 

And  there  it  feasts  upon  the  heart, 

It  is  a  quiet  reveller, 

As  is  the  noiseless  coffin-worm. 
That  lone  and  sullen  banqueter, 

That  battens  on  the  human  form  : 
No  wassail  shout,  no  song  of  glee 

Is  heard  within  that  narrow  dome ; 
No  echoes  tell  the  revelry 

That  cheers  the  earth-worm  in  his  home. 

Such  is  that  sorrow's  festival ; 

But  ah  !  it  hath  a  higher  prey, 
A  loftier  victim  in  its  thrall, 

A  nobler  mansion  than  the  clay  ! 
That  wasting  sorrow  doth  inherit 

A  palace  framed  with  wondrous  art : 
That  palace  is  the  human  spirit, 

That  victim  is  the  broken  heart ! 
19 


214 


Stands, 

MARKED  ye  the  eagle  rising  high, 

His  wings  expanded  in  the  sky  ? 

Behold !  he  soars  with  lofty  mind, 

He  leaves  the  winds  of  heaven  behind  ; 

And  mounting  with  his  spirit  proud, 

He  makes  his  home  above  the  cloud  ! 

Behold  his  strong  and  stately  form 

Contending  sternly  with  the  storm, 

With  plume  unscorched,  with  unscathed  limb, 

The  lightning  leaps,  but  harms  not  him  ! 

Thus,  Genius !  can  thy  soul  sublime 

Resist  the  stormy  might  of  Time  ! 

Break  through  the  clouds  that  veil  thy  sky,. 

And  triumph  o'er  adversity  ! 

Thy  beacon,  which  gives  light  afar, 

Is  Glory's  bright,  eternal  star ! 

Thy  track  is  Virtue's,  and  thine  aim, 

For  honor  and  undying  fame. 

Yes,  when  thy  prison-house  of  clay 

Is  mouldering  in  the  grave's  decay. 

Thy  monument  extends  on  high, 

Which  Time  doth  harmlessly  pass  by  ; 

Nor  from  the  golden  arch  of  fame, 

Can  he  erase  thy  hallowed  name. 

Thy  spirit,  with  its  wing  unfurled, 

(Spreads  its  broad  shadow  o'er  the  world  ; 


IRELAND. 


And  fetterless  it  soars  on  high, 

To  seek  a  home  within  the  sky  : 

In  the  blue  fields  of  yonder  heaven, 

The  fount  from  which  thy  fires  are  given  1 


Kreiantr. 

"Mox  sese  attollet  in  auras." 
I. 

WAKE,  emerald  isle  of  the  wave, 
Fair  land  of  the  lofty  in  mind, 
Of  the  lovely,  the  gallant,  the  brave  ; 

Break  the  chains  that  are  round  thee  entwined! 
Once  more  let  thy  flag  be  unfurled, 
In  gladness,  in  honor,  and  fame  ; 
Once  more  let  thy  triumphs  resound  through  the 

world, 

Which  hath  witnessed  the  night  of  thy  shame. 
Hath  the  sun  of  thy  freedom  eternally  set  ? 
No !  its  beacon  shall  guide  thee  to  victory  yet ! 

ii. 

Thy  night  of  oppression  shall  end, 

The  dawn  of  thy  glory  shall  rise, 
And  the  star  of  thy  hope  shall  ascend 

To  its  zenith  again,  in  the  skies : 


IRELAND. 


Thy  bards  shall  awaken  the  song, 
"  The  emerald  island  is  free  ;" 
The  breezes  of  heaven  shall  waft  it  along, 

Across  the  blue  waves  of  the  sea  ; 
And  the  exile  who  wanders  far  over  the  main. 
Shall  lift  up  his  voice  and  unite  in  the  strain. 

in. 

Why  waves  not  thy  banner,  O'Neil  ? 

There  is  rust  on  the  sword  of  thy  fathers  1 
Let  thy  war-cry  resound  like  the  thunderbolt's  peal-, 

When  the  storm  in  its  mightiness  gathers  ! 
Why  still  doth  the  desert  weed  wave 

O'er  the  desolate  halls  of  O'Connor, 
Where  the  minstrel  of  yore  sang  the  praise  of  th< 

brave, 

Their  glory,  their  pride,  and  their  honor  ? 
Let  O'  Neils  and  O'Connors  awake  in  their  might* 
And  strike  for  green  Erin,  for  freedom,  and  right  ' 

IV. 

Yes,  desolate  land  !  thou  shalt  wake 

To  the  proud  march  of  glory  again  : 
The  storm  of  thy  vengeance  shall  break 

Like  the  hurricane's  wrath  o'er  the  main  : 
Then  when  battle  is  rending  the  sky, 

And  tyranny  quakes  on  the  throne, 
The  day-star  of  freedom  shall  brighten  thy  sky, 

And  triumph  and  fame  be  thy  own  : 
Then  the  scenes  of  thy  annals  shall  equal  again, 
Clontarfs  purple  wave,  and  red  Ossory's  plain  ' 


ICELAND.  217 

v. 

What  echo  resounds  on  the  hills  ? 

What  flame  lights  the  heaven  afar  ? 
Tis  the  war-cry  of  Erin  that  thrills  ! 

'Tis  the  bale-fire  enkindled  by  war ! 
There  is  rushing  of  man  and  of  steed  ; 

There  is  clangour  of  hoof  and  of  sword  ; 
Wild  battle  is  urging  his  coursers  in  speed, — 

The  vial  of  ruin  is  poured  ! 

Hosts  sink  in  that  slumber  which  waken  no  more, 
And  the  flowers  of  earth  are  empurpled  with  gore  ! 

VI. 

But  the  clouds  in  their  rage  pass  along, 

The  thunders  are  lulled  into  sleep  ; 
Say,  what  is  that  proud  and  melodious  song 

Which  floats  o'er  the  breast  of  the  deep  ? 
'Tis  the  anthem  of  triumph,  which  tells 

That  Erin  hath  burst  from  her  shame ! 
That  the  morning  of  glory  her  darkness  dispels, 

And  heralds  the  day  of  her  fame  ! 
Her  sons  have  not  bled  round  her  banner  in  vain, 
For  Erin,  green  Erin,  is  freedom's  again ! 


WHERE  have  the  valiant  sunk  to  rest. 

When  their  sands  of  life  were  numbered  ? 
On  the  downy  couch  1  on  the  gentle  breast 

Where  their  youthful  visions  slumbered  ? 

When  the  mighty  passed  the  gate  of  death. 

Did  love  stand  by  bewailing  ? 
No  !  but  upon  war's  fiery  breath 

Their  blood-dyed  flag  was  sailing  ! 

Not  on  the  silent  feverish  bed, 

With  weeping  friends  around  them, 

Were  the  parting  prayers  of  the  valiant  said*. 
When  death's  dark  angel  found  them. 

But  in  the  stern  and  stormy  strife, 

In  the  flush  of  lofty  feeling, 
They  yielded  to  honor  the  boon  of  life,. 

While  battle's  bolts  were  pealing  ; 

When  the  hot  war-steed,  with  crimsoned  mane 
Trampled  on  breasts  all  stained  and  gory, 

Dashed  his  red  hoof  on  the  reeking  plain, 
And  shared  in  the  rider's  glory. 


THE    BRAVE. 

Or  seek  the  brave  in  their  ocean  grave, 

'Neath  the  dark  and  restless  water ; 
Seek  them  beneath  the  whelming  wave, 

So  oft  deep  dyed  with  slaughter. 

There  sleep  the  gallant  and  the  proud, 
The  eagle-eyed  and  the  lion-hearted  ; 

For  whom  the  trump  of  fame  rang  loud. 
When  body  and  soul  were  parted. 

Or  seek  them  on  fields  where  the  grass  grows  deep. 

Where  the  vulture  and  raven  hover  ; 
There  the  sons  of  battle  in  quiet  sleep  : 
And  widowed  love  goes  there  to  weep, 

That  their  brief  and  bright  career  is  over 


220 


Sfcetcfi,  NO.  i. 

His  face  had  lost  the  bloom 
Of  reckless  childhood;  and  his  eye  its  brightness. 
There  was  an  earnest  fixedness  of  gaze, 
Denoting  that  the  heart  beneath  had  lost 
Its  buoyancy,  and  its  fantastic  dreams 
Had  given  place  to  pensive  thoughtfulness. 
The  sprightly  gait,  the  laughing  lip,  were  changed 
To  calm  and  sober  seriousness  of  mien. 
Clouds  hung  above  his  youth  ;  forsaken  hope, 
Bereaved  affection,  and  the  broken  chain 
Of  ardent  feeling  :  and  the  blighted  bud 
Of  young  enjoyment,  like  the  sombre  pall, 
Hung  o'er  his  heart  ;  and  all  beneath  was  dark — 
Dark  as  the  deep  and  midnight  loneliness 
Which  reigns  within  the  vaulted  sepulchre  ! 
And  now  no  more  his  fancy  revelled  on 
The  morning  cloud,  that  spreads  its  golden  fringe 
Along  the  east,  and  brightens  in  the  sun  : 
Nor  on  the  virgin  blushes  of  the  rose, 
Opening  her  bosom  to  the  summer  gale ; 
Nor  on  the  varied  colours  of  the  bow, 
Which  bends  its  blue  and  crimson  arch  in  heaven. 
No !  but  when  tempests  vexed  the  brow  of  night, 
And  the  dark  angel  of  the  storm  went  forth 
Upon  his  wild  and  desolating  march, — 
Then  glowed  his  spirit  with  strange  ecstacyr 
And  held  high  converse  with  the  elements' 


SKETCH,    NO.    II.  221 

And  often  would  he  cull  the  cypress  crown 
With  the  sad  leaves  of  the  sepulchral  yew, 
And  round  his  temples  bind  the  joyless  wreath  : 
How  different  from  the  gay  and  floval  crown 
Which  bloomed  upon  his  brow  in  earlier  days  ! 
There  was  an  air  of  stern  and  proud  endurance. 
As  if  his  spirit,  though  it  ceased  to  strive 
With  iron  destiny,  had  learned  to  bear ; 
As  if  it  scorned  to  raise  the  sad  lament  u  bs< 
And  broken-hearted  wail  o'er  its  misfortunes  ; 
And  spurned  the  false  and  hollow  sympathy 
Of  human  kind  ;  but  chose  the  nobler  part. 
To  wrestle  with  its  agony  in  silence. 


SftCtrfl,    No.    II. 

THE  scene  was  changed. 
A  lily  sprung  upon  the  desert  rock, 
A  blossom  flourished  on  the  blasted  tree  ; 
His  natal  star  once  more  in  golden  light 
Pursued  its  march,  and  beckoned  him  to  joy. 
One  lonely,  lovely  being  prized  his  worth, 
And  won  his  spirit  from  its  solitude  : 
Earth  wore  the  hues  of  heaven  ;  how  beautiful, 
How  fair  she  was  !  even  as  the  dark-eyed  daughters 
Of  Allah's  visionary  paradise.;>ni!iioiu  s,  i  < 
Upon  her  cheek  so  pure  and  delicate, 
The  lily  struggled  with  the  crimson  rose  ; 
And  all  the  magic,  all  the  witchery: . 
That  ever  lover  dreamed  or  poet  sung. 


2'22  SKETCH,    NO.    II. 

Glowed  in  the  lightnings  of  her  dark-blue  eye. 

Oh  !  she  was  beautiful !  her  raven  hair 

Hung  in  profusion  round  her  neck  of  snow ; 

And  oft  in  maiden  glee  and  sportiveness 

Her  gentle  hand  would  catch  the  roving  curls. 

And  bind  them  in  a  braid  around  her  brow. 

Oh  !  she  was  beautiful !  her  graceful  form 

Moved  upon  enrth  so  lightly  and  so  free, 

She  seemed  a  seraph  wanderer  of  the  sky  ; 

Too  bright,  too  pure,  too  glorious  for  earth ! 

He  loved,  nay  more,  he  madly  idolized ; 

And  kneeling  in  devotion  at  her  shrine, 

Breathed  unto  her  prayers  that  were  due  to  heaven. 

His  spirit  sprung  to  hers  ;  all  other  thoughts, 

All  other  feelings  vanished  from  his  mind, 

And  one  intense,  devoted,  deathless  ardour, 

One  passion,  joyous  even  to  agony, 

Glowed  in  his  throbbing  heart ;   and  this  was  love  !' 

Yes,  it  was  love  !  let  the  cold-hearted  smile  ; 

And  let  the  senseless,  the  unfeeling  fool, 

Whose  dull  lethargic  spirit  never  soared 

Beyond  its  vile  and  perishable  clay, 

Who  steals  through  life  unblessing  and  unblest, 

Let  him  deride  those  throbs  he  cannot  feel 

But  angels  bless  and  heaven  inspires  such  love  1 

Oh  !  the  heart's  deep  and  fond  idolatry  ! 

Source  of  delight  and  of  severest  wo  ! 

There  hangs  a  morning  wreath  on  beauty's  shrine 

When  life  is  in  its  spring,  and  time  as  yet 

Nor  blights  the  bud,  nor  steals  the  floret's  hue  : 

Look  once  again  !  the  mildew  of  decay, 

And  sorrow's  canker  have  been  working  there  ! 


223 


Sfcetch,  NO.  in. 

1  SAID  he  loved.     The  stream  of  being  flowed, 
And  sun-beams  danced  upon  its  placid  wave  : 
His  sorrows  had  passed  on,  nor  left  a  scar ; 
Affliction's  sullen  impress  was  effaced, 
And  all  was  brilliancy  ;  the  sun  went  forth 
Upon  a  sky  of  clear  and  smiling  blue  ; 
All  nature  blossomed  round  him  ;  earth  contained 
One  gem  of  Eden,  and  that  gem  was  his. 
Where  now  were  all  the  trials,  all  the  woes, 
The  secret  anguish  of  his  troubled  youth  ? 
The  Lethe  of  the  mind  had  gathered  o'er  them, 
And  memory  was  lost  in  present  bliss  : 
The  matin  clouds  were  gone,  and  the  sweet  song 
Of  hope  gave  promise  of  a  sunny  noon. 
Oh !  strange,  mysterious  power  of  destiny  ! 
Even  then  the  storm  was  gathering  afar 
In  his  horizon  ;  soon  it  swept  amain, 
With  desolation  on  its  midnight  wing ! 
Yea,  even  then,  when  life  was  ecstacy, 
Fate  poured  the  vial  of  its  fiercest  wrath  ! 
The  bridal  garb  was  ready,  hearts  beat  high, 
When,  sudden  as  the  tiger  from  his  lair, 
Death  sprung  upon  his  victim  ;  and  the  crown 
Which  love  entwined,  reposed  upon  the  grave  \ 
Around  the  maid  was  wreathed  the  cold  cymar ; 
Lost  in  her  prime,  and  in  the  full  fresh  play 
Of  young,  unchangeable,  and  warm  affection  i 


224  SKETCH,     NO.    III. 

And  now  the  bier  was  placed  within  the  aisle  ; 

The  burial  rites  were  said,  the  anthem  sung 

O'er  shrouded  innocence  and  loveliness  : 

Earth  claimed  the  clay,  and  heaven  the  spotless  spirit 

The  voice  of  wail  arose — but  where  was  he  ? 

And  where  was  he  ?  clad  in  the  sable  weeds 

Of  outward  sorrow,  to  attract  the  cold 

And  heartless  pity  of  a  callous  world  ? 

Say,  did  he  mingle  with  the  weeping  throng  ? 

No !  but  his  heart  was  robed  in  mourning,  and 

He  kept  aloof  in  broken-hearted  pride  ! 

But  ere  the  coffin  had  enclosed  her  form, 

He  stole  in  breathless  silence  to  the  spot 

Where  lay  the  early  victim  ;  fearfully 

He  raised  the  veil  from  that  still  lovely  face 

Which  death  had  altered  not ;  and  there  he  stood 

In  calm,  serene,  and  voiceless  agony, 

Gazing  upon  his  bride !  one  farewell  glance 

He  gave,  and  then  impressed  one  long,  last  kiss 

Upon  her  colourless  and  lifeless  lip ; 

Then  rushed  away,  away,  for  evermore ! 

The  morrow  came  ;  the  requiem  bell  was  tolled  : 

The  clod  struck  hollow  on  the  coffin  lid  ; 

The  mourners  stood  around — but  he  was  gone  ! 


JFatrrtorll.          ^ 

••A  word  that  must  be,  and  hath  been."— BYRON 

THERE  is  a  word  that  rends  the  heart, 
Which  all  have  said,  and  all  must  say ; 
Which  breaks  the  bands  of  love  apart, 
And  drives  the  dream  of  bliss  away  : 
And  e'en  when  youth  delighted  springs 
Fresh  into  life  arid  gaily  sings, 
Light  as  the  wood-lark  on  the  spray, 
That  dreaded  word  may  then  be  said 
Sad  as  the  anthem  o'er  the  dead  ! 

A  word,  that  makes  us  sadly  own 
That  all  our  dearest  joys  are  vain  ; 
Which  bids  us  trace  our  steps  alone 
Along  the  flinty  path  of  pain  ; 
Which  uttered  by  the  parting  breath. 
When  the  soul  feels  the  chill  of  death, 
And  life  is  fast  upon  the  wane, 
Commands  the  tears  of  love  to  flow 
For  all  it  cherished  here  below. 

A  word  which  breaks  the  fond  caress 
Of  youthful  hearts  in  happy  hours  ; 
Which  makes  the  world  a  wilderness, 
Devoid  of  verdure,  sun,  and  flowers  - 
30 


226  FAREWELL. 

The  faded  leaves  bestrew  the  ground.. 
The  fatal  ivy  wreathing  round 
O'erahades  the  broken  bowers, 
Where  once  the  rose  and  lily  grew, 
And  sparkled  in  the  matin  dew. 

A  word,  that  severs  every  tie 
Which  hope  believes  will  last  for  aye  ; 
Which  dims  the  light  of  beauty's  eye, 
And  chases  all  her  smiles  away ; 
That  sheds  affliction  o'er  her  brow, 
And  wrings  with  pain  her  breast  of  snow 
What  is  this  word  which  all  must  say  ? 
Youth,  manhood,  age !  ye  all  can  tell 
It  is  that  fatal  word,  farewell ! 


227 


WHEN  the  world  in  throngs  shall  press 

To  the  battle's  glorious  van ; 
When  the  oppress'd  shall  seek  redress, 

And  shall  claim  the  rights  of  man  ; 
Then  shall  freedom  smile  again 
On  the  earth  and  on  the  main. 

When  the  tide  of  war  shall  roll 

Like  imperious  ocean's  surge, 
From  the  tropic  to  the  pole, 

And  to  earth's  remotest  verge ; 
Then  shall  valour  dash  the  gem 
From  each  tyrant's  diadem. 

When  the  banner  is  unfurled, 
Like  a  silver  cloud  in  air, 
And  the  champions  of  the  world 
In  their  might  assemble  there  ; 
Man  shall  rend  his  iron  chain, 
And  redeem  his  rigrhts  again. 

Then  the  thunderbolts  shall  fall, 
In  their  fury  on  each  throne, 
Where  the  despot  holds  in  thrall 

Spirits  nobler  than  his  own  ; 
And  the  cry  of  all  shall  be, 
Battle's  shroud  or  liberty ! 


FREEDOM. 

Then  the  trump  shall  echo  loucL. 

Stirring  nations  from  afar, 
In  the  daring  line  to  crowd, 

And  to  draw  the  blade  of  war  : 
While  the  tide  of  life  shall  rain, 
And  encrimson  every  plain. 

Then  the  Saracen  shall  flee 

From  the  city  of  the  Lord  ; 
Then,  the  light  of  victory 

Shall  illume  Judea's  sword  : 
And  new  liberty  shall  shine 
On  the  Plains  of  Palestine. 

Then  the  Turk  shall  madly  view- 
How  his  crescent  waxes  dim  ; 
Like  the  waning  moon  whose  hue 

Fades  away  on  ocean's  brim  ; 
Then  the  cross  of  Christ  shall  stand 
On  that  consecrated  land. 

Yea,  the  light  of  freedom  smiles 
On  the  Grecian  phalanx  now, 
Breaks  upon  Ionia's  isles, 

And  on  Ida's  loftly  brow  ; 
And  the  shouts  of  battle  swell,. 
Where  the  Spartan  lion  fell ! 

Where  the  Spartan  lion  fell, 

Proud  and  dauntless  in  the  strife 

How  triumphant  was  his  knell! 
How  sublime  his  close  of  life  ! 


rffcEEDOM. 

<£lory  shone  upon  his  eye, 
Glory  which  can  never  die  ! 

Soon  shall  earth  awake  in  might ; 

Retribution  shall  arise ; 
And  all  regions  shall  unite, 

To  obtain  the  glorious  prize  ; 
And  oppression's  iron  crown, 
To  the  dust  be  trodden  down. 

When  the  Almighty  shall  deform 

Heaven  in  his  hour  of  wrath  ; 
When  the  angel  of  the  storm 

Sweeps  in  fury  on  his  path  ; 
Then  shall  tyranny  lie  hurled 
From  the  bosom  of  the  world. 

Yet,  O  !  freedom  !  yet  awhile, 

All  mankind  shall  own  thy  sway ; 
And  the  eye  of  God  shall  smile 
On  thy  brightly  dawning  day  ; 
And  all  nations  shall  adore 
At  thine  altar  evermore. 


to 


THOUGH  fate  hath  for  aye  disunited  our  chain, 

Which  love,  in  the  days  of  our  childhood,  entwined  j- 
Though  the  hope  of  our  morning  hath  sparkled  in  vain< 

And  fled  from  our  sight  like  a  dream  of  the  mind  ; 
Yet  still  when  in  visions  my  spirit  is  free, 

It  roams  to  the  hours  which  have  faded  away, 
When  the  prime  of  my  life  was  embellished  by  thee, 

And  promised  a  happy,  a  heavenly  day. 

Soon  this  feverish  being  will  slumber  in  rest; 

Oh  !  calm  be  its  slumber  the  green  earth  below  ! 
Then,  when  passions  shall  cease  to  bewilder  my  breast. 

And  death  wraps  my  form  in  his  mantle  of  snow  ; 
Wilt  thou  weep  over  him  who  hath  loved  thee  so  well., 

Through  each  tempest  that  troubled  life's  turbulent 

sea? 
Wilt  thou  pour,  gentle  girl,  the  lamenting  farewell, 

To  him  who  hath  loved,  who  hath  idolized  thee-? 

Yes,  thou  wilt  remember  and  mourn  o'er  his  lot. 

When  others  his  grave  pass  neglectfully  by  ; 
By  the  cold  and  unkind  he  will  soon  be  forgot, 

But  remembered  awhile  in  the  tears  of  thine  eye  :  : 
Thou  only  did'st  love  him  ;  his  fate  was  so  wild? 

Friends  shrunk  from  the  wo  he  was  doomed  to  sustain 
Prom  his  birth  he  was  marked  for  adversity's  child, 

The  victim  of  passion,  the  minion  of  pain, 


STANZAS.  231 

Yet  his  proud  spirit  bent  not,  though  fortune,  in  wrath 

Black  midnight  and  storm  o'er  his  destiny  spread ; 
One  star,  lone  and  bright,  still  shone  o'er  his  path, 

Through  the  frown  of  the  clouds  that  hung  over  his 

head : 
Fair  star  of  his  being !  no  tempest  could  shroud  thee  ; 

Fair  star  of  his  being  !  unchanged  was  thy  ray : 
No  hatred  could  hide,  and  no  envy  could  cloud  thee, 

Though  hatred  and  envy  encumbered  his  way ! 

Unaltered  by  trials,  unskaken  by  fears, 

Though  abandoned  by  hope  in  thy  beauty's  youna 

bloom ; 
When  thy  friend  sleeps  in  death,  let  thy  memory's  tears 

Descend  on  the  grass  that  waves  o'er  his  tomb  . 
And  if  passion  hath  urged  him  from  virtue  to  rove, 

In  the  mazes  of  folly  and  error  to  stray, 
Plead  thou  for  his  faults  to  the  spirit  above, 

Let  thy  tears  be  the  Lethe  to  wash  them  away  1 


&o  Cora, 

"  Animus,  quod  perdidit,  optat. 

GHABM  of  my  life,  too  early  flown 

Too  early  lost ;  yet  ever  dear, 
And  ever  loved  ;  why  hast  thou  gone, 

And  left  my  soul  forsaken  here, 
To  muse  on  joys  that  faded  fast 

As  meteor  lights  upon  the  sea, 
Before  my  days  were  overcast, 

And  hope  was  lost,  in  losing  thee  ! 

Not  yet  forgot !  not  yet  forgot ! 

The  memory  of  thine  angel  smile 
Beams  o'er  the  darkness  of  my  lot, 

And  lights  its  loneliness  awhile  ; 
And  when  this  eye,  that  cannot  weep, 

Is  closed  in  slumbering  at  even, 
Thou  comest  to  my  view  in  sleep, 

Like  some  enchanted  dream  from  heaven. 

Not  yet  forgot !  although  the  tie 

Which  wreathed  our  hearts  is  rent  in  twain 
Thine  image  still  doth  linger  nigh 

To  soothe  this  agony  of  pain  ; 
And  though  the  storms  in  blackness  crowd 

Above  my  head,  foreboding  ill, 
Thou  art  the  rainbow  on  the  cloud, 

The  gem  to  gild  its  darkness  still ! 


TO     CORA.  233 

And  lime  his  gloomy  veil  hath  spread^ 

To  frown  between  us  coldly  now, 
And  midnight  gathers  o'er  my  head  ; 

But  Cora  !  Cora !  where  art  thou  ? 
Still  springs  this  desolated  breast, 

To  bless  the  one  it  cannot  see, 
And  though  by  many  a  grief  oppressed, 

Still  mounts  its  prayer  to  heaven  for  thee. 

For  thee.  for  thee,  this  lonely  heart 

Could  every  pang  of  fate  endure  ; 
Content  my  blessings  should  depart, 

Thy  bliss,  thy  safety  to  secure. 
So  dearly  doth  my  spirit  prize 

Thy  soul  of  spotless  purity, 
I  would  not  ask  for  paradise, 

Unless  its  joys  were  shared  with  thee. 

Loved,  lost,  for  ever  !  still  shall  earth 

Her  varied  garb  of  seasons  wear, 
But  spring  to  me  can  give  no  mirth, 

Nor  summer's  music  lull  my  care  ; 
Yea,  lost  for  ever  1  still  the  tide 

Shall  heave  upon  the  stormy  main, 
Which  rolls  between  us  far  and  wide, 

And  tells,  we  ne'er  shall  meet  again. 

Yet  whatsoe'er  my  fate  may  be, 

However  dark  the  hue  it  wear, 
One  lesson  thou  hast  taught  to  me, 

When  sorrow  loads  the  heart,  to  bear ; 


334  DYIN&     SOLDIER, 


E'en  from  that  heart  so  gently  strung, 

It  seemed  that  pain  its  chords  would  sever, 

My  own  hath  learned,  when  fiercely  wrung, 
To  bear,  though  joy  be  hushed  for  ever. 


Soitrtev. 


THE  war  had  ceased  ;  its  iron  sound 
No  more  rung  startling  on  the  air  ; 
The  dead  lay  weltering  on  the  ground, 
And  he  was  left  to  perish  there  : 
Hushed  was  the  trumpet's  stirring  tone? 
While  feebly  rose  the  hollow  moan 
Of  agonized  despair, 
As  pain  convulsed  each  quivering  limb, 
When  life  was  waxing  faint  and  dim. 

O  I  think  ye  not,  that  as  he  lay 
Upon  the  field  his  life-blood  wet, 
His  fancy  wandered  far  away 
To  those  his  heart  can  ne'er  forget  ? 
O  !  think  ye  not,  he  thought  of  those 
That  shared  the  joys,  that  shared  the  woes, 
Which  on  earth's  solitude  he  met, 
And  twined  the  ties  around  his  heart 
Which  j©y  nor  wo  could  rend  apart  ? 


BYING  SOLDIER. 

He  did  ;  and  blame  him  not  that  tears 
Burst  from  him  in  that  painful  hour, 
Thinking  on  all  which  life  endears, 
And  checks  affliction's  baleful  power  ; 
On  early  childhood's  promised  bliss, 
On  early  love's  delighted  kiss, 
And  beauty's  Eden  flower  ; 
On  all  the  lovely  scenes  that  gleam 
Brightly  upon  Hope's  fairy  dream. 

Alas !  his  dream  passed  darkly  on, 
Its  fairest  tints  enrobed  in  night ; 
Life's  early  promise  too  was  gone, 
Though  brilliant  as  the  morning's  light : 
And  there  he  lay,  the  lonely  one, 
His  race  of  honor  quickly  run, 
And  death  before  his  sight ; 
The  clay-cold  earth  his  place  of  rest, 
And  he  must  wither  on  her  breast. 

And  if  it  be,  that  as  he  gazed 
Upon  the  blue  and  starlit  sky, 
His  nerveless  arm  was  feebly  raised. 
And  fond  regret  was  in  his  eye  ; 
O  !  if  he  longer  wished  to  stray 
Along  life's  wild  and  thorny  way, 
And  thought  'twas  hard  to  die  ; 
Forgive  the  wish,  for  can'st  thou  tell 
The  anguish  of  life's  last  farewell ! 


236  DYING     SOLDIER. 

Not  such  his  feelings,  when  the  morn 
Broke  on  the  battle's  bright  array ; 
Then,  full  of  hope  and  martial  scorn, 
He  dashed  undaunted  in  the  fray ; 
And  as  the  drum's  awakening  roll 
Diffused  a  rapture  through  his  soul, 
He  blessed  the  happy  day  ; 
The  wished-for  day,  that  was  to  see 
His  sword  illumed  with  victory ! 

Deceitful  hope !  behold  him  now> 
The  red  drops  on  his  snowy  plume, 
The  death-damps  gathering  on  his  brow, 
Those  dark  forerunners  of  the  tomb  ! 
O !  were  his  gentle  mother  there, 
How  would  her  moanings  rend  the  air  ! 
Yet,  glorious  is  his  doom  ! 
For  him  his  country's  heart  shall  bleed : 
Who  would  not  die  for  such  a  meed  i 

Weep  not  for  him !  he  perished  well ; 
He  died  where  noble  men  should  die  ; 
War's  thousand  voices  rung  his  knell, 
And  valor  lit  his  failing  eye. 
Sweet  is  the  dying  hour  to  him, 
Who,  as  the  light  of  life  grows  dim, 
Lies  down  in  victory ! 
How  honoured  is  the  warrior's  name  1 
How  lovely  is  the  wreath  of  Fame ! 


237 


-'Well  hast  thou  left  in  life's  best  bloom, 
The  cup  of  wo  for  me  to  drain."— BYRON. 

BENEATH  the  burial  clay, 
Beneath  the  cold  funereal  stone, 
Wrapped  in  the  mantle  of  decay, 
Thy  form  of  graceful  youth  is  gone ! 
O  !  there  was  sorrow,  long  and  loud, 
When  thou  wast  gathered  in  the  shroud ; 
And  tears  in  fast  profusion  fell, 
When  wailing  love  bade  thee  farewell ; 
But  none  whose  hearts  more  deeply  bled 
Than  his,  by  whom  no  tears  were  shed. 

His  grief  was  echoless  ; 
It  had  no  sound,  or  voice,  or  breath  : 
And  his  lone  feeling  of  distress 
Had  all  the  solitude  of  death  : 
But  the  sad  tear-drops  of  the  soul 
Flowed  inwardly  without  control : 
And  mournfully  his  pensive  eye 
Seemed  fixed  in  deep  intensity 
Upon  that  lonely  coffin  lid, 
Where  all  he  loved  on  earth  was  hid- 

He  wept  his  lot  with  none, 
Nor  told  the  misery  of  his  fate  ; 
The  earth  for  him  held  only  one : 
She  died,  and  he  was  desolate. 
21 


238  THE    REQUIEM. 

O !  how  he  watched  her  beauty  pine, 

And  perish  in  its  slow  decline  ; 

When  sickness  blanched  her  cheek  with  care. 

Stealing  the  rose  that  flourished  there  ; 

And  how  he  knelt  at  love's  command 

To  kiss  that  soft  and  lily  hand, 

And  gaze  upon  that  failing  eye, 

Once  glowing  with  love's  witchery. 

She  was  so  beautiful ; 
Even  as  a  seraph  to  his  eyes  ; 
The  hand  of  death  did  never  cull 
A  sweeter  flower  for  paradise ! 
Yea,  partial  nature  never  drew 
A  lovelier  form  or  fairer  hue, 
A  smile  of  more  bewitching  grace 
Than  that  which  played  upon  her  face  ; 
He  deemed  she  was  an  angel  given 
To  make  for  him  this  earth  a  heaven. 

Enchanted  hours  to  him  ! 
And  over-fraught  with  every  bliss ; 
Joy  sparkled  upward  to  the  brim, 
As  if  to  woo  his  fervent  kiss. 
He  wreathed  his  harp  with  summer  flowers, 
And  the  sweet  music  of  those  hours 
Was  like  the  melody  of  spring, 
When  all  her  birds  are  on  the  wing. 


THE     REQUIEM. 

How  changed !  that  heart  is  cold ! 
Her  bosom  rests  within  the  earth, 
And  memory's  dirge  hath  fondly  told 
Of  all  her  sweetness,  all  her  worth  ; 
Unsparing  death !  must  then  the  young. 
The  innocent  in  heart  and  tongue  ; 
The  loved,  the  lovely,  and  the  gay. 
Aye  be  the  first  to  fall  thy  prey  ? 
Alas  !  that  mild  unchiding  breast 
Is  in  the  icy  grave  compressed  ; 
And  the  dull  earthworm  riots  now 
Upon  that  smooth  and  marble  brow. 

The  flowers  of  spring  shall  wave 
Above  her  solitary  bed  ; 
The  gay  green  grass  shall  deck  her  grave. 
And  freshly  blossom  o'er  her  head  : 
But  long  unheeded  must  he  sigh, 
When  year  on  year  is  sweeping  by  : 
And  spring  oft  wither  and  return, 
Before  his  heart  shall  cease  to  mourn. 

But  love  can  never  die  ; 
It  fastens  on  the  fearful  tomb, 
Where  all  its  cherished  blossoms  lie, 
Divested  of  their  hue  and  bloom  : 
In  the  deep  caverns  of  the  grave, 
Love  lingers,  though  it  cannot  save ; 
Yes,  in  the  mansions  of  the  dust, 
Affection  springs,  and  ever  mujst. 


259 


340  THE     REQUIEM. 

Another  dawn  shall  break. 
Upon  this  cloud-enveloped  night ; 
That  lovely  being  shall  awake 
To  bloom  in  heaven's  bowers  of  light : 
Though  fond  affection's  hope  was  vain. 
And  tears  of  sorrow  fell  like  rain 
in  that  sad  hour  of  mortal  pain, 
When  death  descended,  and  no  prayer 
Could  ward  the  blow  from  one  so  fair ; 
Yet  in  a  happier  world  than  this, 
A  world  of  unembittered  bliss, 
Where  joy  hath  never  said,  farewell, 
That  pure  and  stainless  heart  shall  dwell, 


241 


Stanza, 

ADDRESSED    TO    A   LADY. 

THERE  is  a  blight  which  oft  doth  kill 

The  blossoms  of  the  rosy  spring, 
Ere  o'er  the  valley  and  the  hill, 

Decay  expands  his  yellow  wing  ; 
That  blight  doth  waste  and  desolate 

The  hope  and  promise  of  the  year, 
And  leave  a  wild,  where  future  fate 

Finds  nothing  beautiful  to  sear. 

Thus  on  the  heart's  short-fated  bloom 

In  spring  the  frosts  of  ruin  fall, 
And  destiny  awards  its  doom, 

Its  early  doom  a  funeral  pall ; 
On  which  the  griefs  of  after  years 

Unfelt  and  unavailing  light, 
For  all  its  hopes,  and  all  it  fears 

Are  withered  by  its  early  blight. 

This  I  hare  seen  ;  nay  more,  perchance 

I  may  have  felt  this  blight  of  spring. 
And  sternly  taught  mine  eye  to  glance 

Coldly  on  every  lovely  thing  ; 
Rut  be  it  as  it  may,  I  well 

Maj  question  with  unsparing  Time. 
For  he  hath  rung  the  parting  knell 

O'er  all  the  promise  of  my  prime 
21* 


>  STANZAS,-. 

He  rose  in  golden  light  to  me, 

As  the  sun  mounts  from  ocean's  rim  ; 
Life  held  the  cup  of  luxury, 

And  wooed  me  to  its  sparkling  brim  ; 
The  wild-bird  in  my  natal  bower 

Entranced  me  with  its  melody ; 
The  bloom  was  red  upon  the  flower, 

The  leaf  was  green  upon  the  tree. 

Where  is  that  flower  of  morning's  wreath, ... 

And  where  the  leaf  so  gay  and  green  ?    , 
Bloom  they  on  lifers  forsaken  heath, 

Spring  they  upon  its  barren  scene  ? 
Where  is  the  light  which  on  my  way, 

Like  light  from  Eden's  altar  fell  ? 
Where  are  the  joys  of  yesterday  ? 

Decay  and  Time  !  ye  both  can  tell.. 

Ungentle  Time !  I  chide  thee  not, 

Though  thou  hast  brought  an  early  chill ; 
Though  mine  hath  been  no  common  lot 

Of  light  and  darkness,  good  and  ill ; 
I  chide  thee  not,  for  long  ago 

Thou  wast  full  kind  to  me  and  mine, 
And  worest  upon  thy  altered  brow. 

An  aspect  gentle  and  benign.. 

Though  thou  hast  buried  in  the  earth 
The  heart  that  echoed  to  my  own  ; 

Though  thou  hast  stripped  my  life  of  worth. 
And  made  me  feel  that  I  am  lone.; 


STANZ'AS,  243 

As  the  wrecked  bark  upon  the  wave, 
Which  ne'er  shall  to  the  earth  return , , 

Though  o'er  my  unremembered  grave 
Friendship  sigh  not,  nor  beauty  mourn. 

Though  of  each  joy  thou  hast  bereft 

My  heart,  and  planted  anguish  there, 
I  curse  thee  not,  for  thou  hast  left 

The  spirit  and  the  pride,  to  bear:  • 
The  haughty  pride  which  murmurs  not, 

When  pain  his  every  shaft  hath  hurled  j 
Which  seeks  no  solace  for  its  lot, 

Amidst  a  cold  and  worthless  world. 

Yet,  yet,  if  thou  could'st  but  restore 

The  freshness  of  my  wasted  hours, 
And  could'st  thou  call  to  life  once  more 

My  being's  loved  and  buried  flowers  ; 
Gould  thy  cold  hand  but  re-unite 

The  broken  links  of  feeling's  chain, 
And  bring  the  cup  of  lost  delight 

Sparkling  unto  my  lip  again  ; 

Oh  then  I  might  in  Lethe  drown 

The  phantom  thoughts  that  haunt  me -now; 
And  twine  a  newly-woven  crown 

Of  noontide  roses  round  my  brow  ; 
And  I  might  raise  my  voice  to  bless  : 

Away,  away,  the  thought  is  vain, , 
1  will  not  think-on  happiness- 

E'en  in  my  wildest  dream  again,*.. 


244 


Stnmns. 

WHEN  this  form  in  the  shroud  of  decay  shall  be  dressedJ. 

A  prey  to  the  worm,  wilt  thou  think  of  me  then  ? 
Will  my  memory  be  shrined  in  thy  innocent  breast. 

When  life  cannot  glow  in  this  bosom  again  ? 

When  that  sorrowful  moment  shall  come,  as  it  must, 
And  the  death-cloud  shall  darkly  envelope  my  brow  ; 

When  this  heart  with  its  frailties  shall  sleep  in  the  dust. 
Though  it  beat  with  affection  and  love  for  thee  now  ? 

Is  there  not  in  yon  heaven  a  happier  clime, 

Where  the  bliss  that  hath  withered  shall  blossom 
anew; 

Where  our  love  shall  re-flourish,  un wasted  by  time, 
With  more  exquisite  sweetness,  more  beautiful  hue  ? 

There  is  ;  'tis  a  clime  which  our  spirits  shall  find 
Divested  of  woes,  that  have  clouded  them  here, 

Where  our  hopes  shall  be  freshened,  our  hearts  re- 
entwined, 
And  the  carol  of  joy  shall  enrapture  the  ear. 

With  thee  was  each  innocent  wish  of  my  youth. 

Ere  griefs  gathered  round,  which  I  could  not  foresee  : 

Each  noble  emotion  of  honor  and  truth 

Was  kindled  and. warmed  into  being  by  thee! 


STANZAS.  245 

Thou  taught' st  me  to  turn  from  the  treacherous  way 
Where  my  footsteps  in  darkness  and  folly  had  strayed  ; 

Thy  love  was  the  light  that  illumined  my  day, 
Which  led  me  where  virtue  in  brilliancy  played. 

Then  though  fate  hath  wrapped  round  me  her  darkest 

attire, 
Though  my  hope  hath  been  wrecked  on  adversity's 

sea ; 
One  solace  is  left  me  which  cannot  expire, 

The  flowers  in  yon  heaven  are  blooming  for  thee ! 

Yes,  that  love-moulded  form  may  go  down  to  the  dusl- 
And  the  green  turf  and  earth-clod  above  thee  may  lie. 

Yet  firm  is  my  hope,  and  unshaken  my  trust, 

That  thy  soul  shall  find  refuge  and  bliss  in  the  sky. 

And  when  o'er  my  horizon,  death's  shadow  shall  move 
When  life  like  a  dream  of  the  morn  shall  have  flown  • 

May  my  heart,  all  its  errors  forgiven,  but  prove 
As  unsullied,  as  stainless,  as  pure  as  thy  own, , 


246 


ONE  kiss  upon  that  cheek  of  snow, 

Which  late  the  blush  of  rapture  worer 
And  then,  far  distant  thou  must  go, 

And  I  shall  meet  thy  smile  no  more. 
Yes,  we  must  part ;  the  wave  must  roll, 

And  ocean's  barrier  intervene  ; 
But  with  thee  still  shall  go  my  soul, 

Through  every  clime,  through  every  scene- 
Yes,  we  must  part :  and  this  is  then 

The  last  fond  kiss  of  one  so  dear  ; 
Shall  joy  beguile  this  heart  again, 

Through  many  a  melancholy  year  ? 
Oh,  life,  thou  art  a  wilderness, 

Where  flowers  but  blossom  to  decay ; 
And  hopes,  which  youthful  hearts  caress, 

Are  aye  the  first  to  fade  away. 

Gora .!  I  found  thee,  what  I  sought, 

In  woman's  purity  and  worth  ; 
A  heart  with  heavenly  sweetness  fraught. 

A  child  of  paradise,  on  earth ! 
With  feelings  generous  and  mild, 

Alive  to  every  virtuous  tone  ; 
With  soul  unstained  and  undefiled 

As  yonder  heaven,  its  native,  throne. 


TO     CORA. 

Such  hearts  have  glowed  in  woman's  breast. 

And  happy  they,  who  pressed  with  care, 
Have  flown  unto  that  place  of  rest, 

And  pillowed  all  their  sorrows  there  ; 
But  thou,  if  ever  love  was  such 

As  fancy  paints  it  in  the  sky, 
With  colours  pure,  and  seraph  touch. 

And  glowing  as  the  rainbow  dye ; 

I  surely  found  it  all  in  thee, 

In  that  ingenuous  heart  of  thine  ; 
And  knelt  in  fond  idolatry 

Before  its  bright  and  holy  shrine  ; 
All  that  rny  spirit  sought  to  greet, 

Yet  feared  the  search  would  be  in  vain, 
ft  found  in  thee  ;  it  ne'er  shall  meet 

One  so  adored  as  thee  again. 

And  when  long  years  their  shadows  fling 

Upon  thy  heart  now  warm  and  young, 
Perchance  the  muse  of  thought  may  bring 

Those  hours  when  o'er  thy  charms  I  hung 
And  often  fondly  lingered  nigh 

To  kiss  the  lilies  on  thy  brow, 
When  that  serene  and  deep  blue  eye 

Floated  in  pensive  tears,  as  now. 

Then,  think  of  me  as  one,  whose  truth 
Once  plighted,  cannot,  will  not  range ; 

Whose  vows  of  warm  confiding  youth 
Are  too  sincere,  too  firm  to  change  : 


TO     CORA. 

But,  do  thou  weep  for  me  no  more  ; 

Those  eyes  should  never  shed  a  tear  : 
Sooner  be  all  remembrance  o'er, 

Than  grief  the  lot  of  one  so  dear. 

Oh  no !  let  memory  on  thy  breast 

Her  varied  mantle  gently  fling, 
Recalling  hours  supremely  blest, 

When  Time  bore  sunshine  on  his  wing ; 
And  when  for  me  life  hath  no  balm, 

And  I  shall  sleep  within  the  grave, 
Oh,  be  that  buried  love  as  calm 

As  moonlight  sleeping  on  the  wave. 

Now,  now  this  last,  this  last  farewell, 

Oh  life  thou  hast  no  deeper  pain  ; 
Hope,  can  thy  voice  prophetic  tell 

That  we  who  part  shall  meet  again  ? 
Oh,  waves  shall  darken,  waves  shall  spread 

Their  foamy  wreaths  upon  the  brine, 
When  thou  across  them  shalt  have  fled. 

Lost  Cora !  joy  can  ne'er  be  mine. 


249 


2To  Cora, 

i. 

I  STJNG  to  thee  my  matin  hymn 

In  life's  auspicious  hour, 
Ere  the  sun-light  of  joy  grew  dim 

O'er  boyhood's  vernal  bower  ; 
For  all  beneath  the  heaven  above, 

And  all  beneath  the  sea, 
I  would  not  then  have  sold  the  love 

Thou  freely  gav'st  to  me. 

ii. 
When  youth's  bright  hope  began  to  fail. 

I  sung  an  altered  strain  ; 
The  farewell  to  the  fading  sail 

Which  bore  thee  o'er  the  main  : 
And  as  I  pressed  thy  gentle  form, 

And  heard  thy  parting  vow, 
Thy  kiss  upon  my  lip  was  warm, 

Thy  tears  were  on  my  brow. 

in. 

Still  fall  thy  tears,  sweet  mourner  ?  no  ; 

Beyond  the  unquiet  wave, 
Thy  broken  heart  forgot  its  wo, 

But  only  in  thy  grave  ! 
There  memory  weeps ;  but  trusting  love 

Looks  through  the  clouds  of  even, 
To  view  thy  angel  form  above, 

A  habitant  of  heaven ! 
22 


250 


THEEE  is  a  spell  that  binds  my  heart 

Within  a  melancholy  mood ; 
Nor  time  can  tear  its  ties  apart, 

Nor  mirth  beguile  its  solitude  ! 

[t  is  the  spell  of  faded  hours, 

When  young  affection's  buds  were  new 
And  hope  illumed  the  rosy  flowers 

With  a  serene  and  smiling  hue. 

It  is  the  spell  of  other  years, 

Years  fresh  in  love  and  tenderness  : 

Before  the  eye  was  known  to  tears, 
Or  the  fond  bosom  felt  distress. 

When  o'er  the  early  march  of  life, 
Hope's  golden  banner  was  unfurled  ; 

And  waved  unshaken  by  the  strife, 
The  wintry  tempests  of  the  world. 

When  not  a  shade  of  sorrow  swept 
Along  life's  fair  unruffled  sea, 

And  all  my  soul  enraptured  slept 
Tn  love's  delicious  witcherv. 


THE     SPELL.  251 

It  was,  it  was  a  dream  of  heaven, 

In  all  the  rainbow's  glory  dressed ! 
And  lovely  as  the  gem  of  each 

Which  sparkles  on  the  dark-blue  west ! 

My  blossoms  withered  on  the  stem : 

Tis  vain,  'tis  idle  to  repine ; 
To  pour  the  lonely  requiem 

O'er  that  lost  paradise  of  mine. 

But  yet  this  unrelenting  grief 

Enwreathes  its  ivy  round  my  soul ; 
Nor  can  my  spirit  find  relief, 

To  break  its  bands  of  fierce  control. 

O !  still  on  memory's  mirror  crowd 
The  phantom  forms  of  grief  and  pain  ; 

My  heart  is  gathered  in  a  shroud, 
And  never  more  shall  bloom  again ! 


252 


2T0  the  ^ttturnu  Seat 

THOU  faded  leaf !  it  seems  to  be 

But  as  of  yesterday, 
When  thou  did'st  flourish  on  the  tree 

In  all  the  pride  of  May  : 
Then  'twas  the  merry  hour  of  spring 
Of  nature's  fairest  blossoming, 

On  field,  on  flower,  and  spray  ; 
It  promised  fair  ;  how  changed  the  scene 
To  what  is  now,  from  what  hath  been ! 

So  fares  it  with  life's  early  spring  ; 

Hope  gilds  each  coming  day, 
And  sweetly  doth  the  syren  sing 

Her  fond  delusive  lay : 
Then  the  young,  fervent  heart  beats  high. 
While  passion  kindles  in  the  eye, 

With  bright  unceasing  play ; 
Fair  are  thy  tints,  thou  genial  hour, 
Yet  transient  as  the  autumn  flower. 

Thou  faded  leaf !  how  like  to  thee 

Is  beauty  in  her  morning  pride, 

When  life  is  but  a  summer  sea, 

And  hope  illumes  its  placid  tide  . 

Alas !  for  beauty's  autumn  hour, 

Alas  !  for  beauty's  blighted  flower, 

When  hope  and  bliss  have  died  i 


AUTUMN     LEAF.  253 

Her  pallid  brow,  her  cheek  of  grief, 
Have  thy  sad  hue,  thou  faded  leaf ! 

Autumnal  leaf!  thus  dies  the  joy 

Which  gleams  upon  love's  April  day ; 

But,  tyrant  Time  !  cin'st  thou  destroy 

That  heavenly  flame  which  warms  the  clay  ? 

No  !  though  each  hope  may  darkly  set, 

The  heart,  the  heart  can  ne'er  forget ; 

Though  anguish  hovers  o'er  the  way, 

Though  fortune  brings  her  night  malign  ; 

Love  brightens  still  on  memory's  shrine  ; — 

The  heart's  pure  altar ;  life  may  frown, 

As  life  hath  frowned  on  every  one ; 

And  sorrow's  clouds  come  darkly  down? 
To  gather  o'er  joy's  setting  sun  : 

But  when  these  clouds  descend  the  thickest, 

And  when  that  sun  hath  set  the  quickest, 
Where  night-shades  over-run ; 

That  holy  flame  glows  brightly  lone, 

When  all  life's  other  lights  are  gone. 

Autumnal  leaf!  thus  honor's  plume, 

And  valor's  laurel  wreath,  must  fade ; 

Must  lose  the  freshness,  and  the  bloom 

On  which  the  beam  of  glory  played ; 

The  banner  waving  o'er  the  crowd, 

Far  streaming  like  a  silver  cloud, 
Must  sink  within  the  shade  ; 
22* 


254  AUTUMN     LEAF. 

Where  dark  oblivion's  waters  flow. 
O'er  human  weal  and  human  wo. 

Autumnal  leaf!  thus  fades  the  bloom 

Of  youth,  in  hope  and  spirit  proud  ; 

When  destiny's  relentless  doom 

Comes  like  the  death-bolt  from  the  cloud 

When,  not  the  slow  destroyer,  Time, 

But  anguish  scatters  o'er  its  prime 

The  blackness  of  her  shroud  :          . 

Hast  thou  not  seen  the  youthful  face 

Where  Grief,  not  Time,  hath  won  the  race  ; 

And  mark'd  the  dim  eye's  heaviness, 

Where  once  was  ardor,  pride,  and  fire  ; 

The  cheek  enrobed  in  mournfulness, 

Once  mantled  in  hope's  gay  attire  : 

O  I  hast  thou  seen  youth  fade  away, 

As  autumn's  leaf  upon  the  spray  ? 
How  soon  its  hues  expire  ! 

Yet  joy,  the  meteor,  cannot  last 

Till  even  youth's  career  is  past, 

Autumnal  leaf!  there  is  a  stern 

And  warning  tone  in  thy  decay : 

Like  thee  must  man  to  death  return 

With  his  frail  tenement  of  clay : 

Thy  warning  is  of  death  and  doom, 

Of  genius  blighted  in  its  bloom, 
Of  joy's  beclouded  ray; 

Life,  rapture,  hope,  ye  are  as  brief 

And  fleeting  as  the  autumn  leaf ! 


255 


LIFE  hath  its  sunshine ;  but  the  ray 

Which  flashes  on  its  stormy  wave 
Is  but  the  beacon  of  decay, 

A  meteor  gleaming  o'er  the  grave  ; 
And  though  its  dawning  hour  is  bright 

With  fancy's  gayest  colouring, 
Yet  o'er  its  cloud-encumbered  night, 

Dark  ruin  flaps  his  raven  wing. 

Life  hath  its  flowers ;  and  what  are  they  ? 

The  buds  of  early  love  and  truth, 
Which  spring  and  wither  in  a  day, 

The  gems  of  warm  confiding  youth  ; 
Alas !  those  buds  decay  and  die, 

Ere  ripened  and  matured  in  bloom  ; 
E'en  in  an  hour,  behold  them  lie 

Upon  the  still  and  lonely  tomb  ! 

Life  hath  its  pang  of  deepest  thrill ; 

Thy  sting,  relentless  memory  ! 
Which  wakes  not,  pierces  not,  until 

The  hour  of  joy  hath  ceased  to  be. 
Then,  when  the  heart  is  in  its  pall, 

And  cold  afflictions  gather  o'er, 
Thy  mournful  anthem  doth  recall 

Bliss  which  hath  died  to  bloom  no  more. 


STANZAS. 

Life  hath  its  blessings  ;  but  the  storm 

Sweeps  like  the  desert  vvind  in  wrath, 
To  sear  and  blight  the  loveliest  form 

Which  sports  on  earth's  deceitful  path. 
O  !  soon  the  wild  heart-broken  Avail, 

So  changed  from  youth's  delightful  tone. 
Floats  mournfully  upon  the  gale, 

When  all  is  desolate  and  lone. 

Life  hath  its  hope  ;  a  matin  dream, 

A  cankered  flower,  a  setting  sun, 
Which  casts  a  transitory  gleam 

Upon  the  even's  cloud  of  dun. 
Pass  but  an  hour,  the  dream  hath  fled, 

The  flowers  on  earth  forsaken  lie  ; 
The  sun  hath  set,  whose  lustre  shed 

A  light  upon  the  shaded  sky. 


257 


Cor  an 


THERE  is  a  kiss  of  heavenly  birth, 
An  angel's  lip  it  would  not  stain  ; 

And  yet  is  found  on  this  dark  earth, 
And  found,  alas!  too  oft  in  vain. 

That  kiss  !  it  speaks  a  thousand  things 
Which  language  never  yet  hath  told  ; 

That  kiss  is  pure  as  are  the  springs 
Which  gushed  in  Kden's  bower  of  old. 

That  kiss  !  how  joyous  is  its  thrill 
When  heart  meets  heart  in  unison, 

And  through  each  good,  and  through  each  ill, 
Of  chequered  fortune  beat  as  one. 

That  kiss,  imparted  o'er  and  o'er, 
Bids  the  wan  cheek  renew  its  bloom, 

Bids  joy  his  sun-light  radiance  pour 

On  care's  pale  shroud  and  sorrow's  tomb. 

And,  faithful  and  confiding  love, 

Spirit  half  mortal,  half  divine, 
Inhabitant  of  heaven  a  bove 

And  earth  below,  that  kiss  is  thine  ! 


258  LINES. 

And  what  is  life  when  that  is  gone ! 

Let  the  o'erburthened  heart  reply ; 
An  ark  from  which  the  dove  hath  flown, 

A  leafless  tree,  a  sunless  sky ; 

A  grave,  without  the  peacefulness 
And  dreamless  slumber  of  the  grave  ; 

A  desert  mute  and  motionless, 
A  bark  upon  the  shoreless  wave  ; 

A  lone  and  desolated  bower, 

Which  the  sear  ivy  wanders  o'er ; 

A  wasted  garden,  where  the  flower, 
Once  dead,  can  blossom  nevermore. 


259 


••I  have  a  hundred  times  wished  that  one  could  resign  life,  as  an  officer 
resigns  a  commission."— Burns'  Letters. 

THE  grave  !  the  grave  !  oh,  happy  they 

Whom  death  hath  seized  in  early  spring. 
Who  sleep  within  the  house  of  clay, 

Gathered  when  life  is  blossoming  ; 
The  grave,  the  grave !  ah,  sorrow  there 

May  aim  her  many  shafts  in  vain, 
And  the  dark  spectre  of  despair 

Stalks  powerless  in  that  domain. 

They  sleep  I  the  selfish  and  the  vile 

Can  never  more  their  feelings  wring  ; 
Unkind  deceit,  and  heartless  guile, 

And  envy  never  more  can  sting  : 
And  love,  which  only  lives  to  mourn, 

Can  never  blight  their  hearts  again. 
For  on  the  cold  and  senseless  urn 

His  wasting  mildews  fall  in  vain. 

Then  weep  not,  weep  not  for  the  dead, 

The  cold  clay  doth  not  heed  the  tear  ; 
But  weep  for  those  who  bow  the  head 

In  life,  when  hope  holds  nothing  dear  : 
Weep  for  the  living  who  conceal 

The  moody  madness  of  the  breast ; 
Mourn  not  the  dead,  they  cannot  feel ! 

Mourn  not  the  dead,  they  are  at  rest ! 


260 


Sow  antr  Sorrofo. 

JOY  kneels  at  morning's  rosy  prime. 

In  worship  to  the  rising  sun ; 
But  Sorrow  loves  the  calmer  time, 

When  the  day-god  his  course  hath  run 
When  night  is  on  her  shadowy  car, 

Pale  Sorrow  wakes  while  Joy  doth  sleep  : 
And  guided  by  the  evening  star, 

She  wanders  forth  to  muse  and  weep. 

Joy  loves  to  cull  the  summer  flower, 

And  wreath  it  round  his  happy  brow : 
But  when  the  dark  autumnal  hour 

Hath  laid  the  leaf  and  blossoms  low  ; 
When  the  frail  bud  hath  lost  its  worth, 

And  Joy  hath  dashed  it  from  his  crest ; 
Then  Sorrow  takes  it  from  the  earth, 

To  wither  on  her  withered  breast. 


THE    END. 


14  DAY  USE 

TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWE] 

LOAN  DEPT. 


LD  2lA-60m-4  '64 

(E4555s10)476B 


.General  Library 

University  of  California 
Berkeley 


13693 


